Jonny McCambridge: When a picture says far more than mere words

This week I’m coming at it the other way around. I have begun with the photograph on this page. My wife snapped it when I was playing with my son in the park last weekend. We liked it so much that I knew it had to be used. Now, I just need to work backwards and tell the story of the day, to find words which justify the drama of the picture.

A few hours before the photo was taken the three of us were at an indoor play facility. Indoor play facilities are designed to be fun. But it is true to say that they have caused me an abundance of worry and pain over the years.

Since he was little, I have been taking my son to birthday parties at such locations and fretted that he does not seem as confident and carefree as the other children. For years, it was a struggle to persuade him to leave his mother’s side so he could join in with the other kids.

Things have got a bit better over the years. But not much.

We arrive at the large warehouse full of inflatable bouncy castles, pits and slides along with my two nephews. Predictably, just at the point when they are about to be given their safety demonstration, my son’s confidence fails.

He says he doesn’t want to go in. We have to gently but firmly persuade him forward. I experience guilt as I observe his worried features.

We retreat to the viewing area upstairs where I can’t shake the uneasy feeling. My son walks gingerly around the play area with his hood up and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. His two cousins run around with abandon.

I sip at a coffee before I see a neighbour, a father whose son is also in the building. I exchange awkward conversation with him for a couple of minutes before my wife, acutely aware of my social limitations, takes up the baton and continues the chat with the man while I go back to nervously watching my son.

He comes around a bit. When he is with his cousins, I can see his features relax and his limbs loosen. He runs around smiling and laughing.

But then, at any moment when he loses sight of his cousins, the stiffness returns to his body, he slows down and digs his hands again in his pockets.

Often, he will look up and see me staring down, giving a nervous little wave. I wonder if I am helping or making the situation worse, unnerving him with my harsh and persistent glare. Does he feel that I am forever judging his actions?

My coffee has gone cold in the mug. I wonder, as I have often done in the past, just where this lack of confidence, this social awkwardness, arises from. It is a terrible thought, but I find myself pondering why he is not able to mix easily like the other children do.

I sit back in my chair and I spot more people that I know. A couple who are parents of one of my son’s friends. We know this couple well and have visited their house. But yet, I find myself pulling my jacket high around my ears, pretending that I don’t see them. I am cowed and nervous at the prospect of having to go and make conversation.

Eventually my wife takes control of the situation and goes over to say hello. I watch her, envious of the ability to make easy conversation with everyone.

Then my attention turns back to my son. He again has his hands in his pockets. I let out a short sigh as I finally realise what has always been right in front of my face. He is awkward and on his own. I am sitting here awkward and on my own. We are both hiding from the world.

Eventually the session in the inflatable park ends and he returns to our side. He tells us that he had a good time, that he’d like to come back again, but I’m not sure his heart is really in it.

We leave the building, squinting our eyes as we adjust to the bright spring sunshine. I ask my son what he would like to do next. He says he wants to go to the swing.

I know immediately which swing he means. It is a feature in a play park about 30 miles from our house. While most swings go back and forward, this attraction is designed so that it can be manoeuvred in every direction, adding to the fun and fear factor.

We drive to the distant park. Despite it being a warm weekend day, there are no other families here. My son immediately runs to the swing and demands that I push him.

So, I do. I notice now, here in the open air with nobody else around, how assured and relaxed he has become. It is true of me too. We both laugh, sing and yell with no sense of shame.

While there may be many things which spook my boy, the swing is not one of them. No matter how hard I push or spin it, he merely laughs and demands more effort.

‘Higher daddy! Push it higher!’

I am warming to the task. My bones and joints seem not as st iff and sore as normal. I become more athletic and energetic in my marshalling of the swing. Soon, my t-shirt is stained and damp and sweat is stinging my eyes.

But I keep going because I am intoxicated by the contagious laughter of my boy.

‘Higher daddy! Push it higher!’

Soon, I am leaping off the ground, as if I were a younger man, and following the momentum of the swing, giving it a mighty thrust with all of my strength and power.

My wife moves close and begins to take some photographs. She is well used to doing so because she knows that I am always on the hunt for images for this page.

As I continue to push the swing higher and higher, my wife tells us that she thinks she has got a good shot. We stop for a moment and look at the picture.

At once, my son and I both say ‘wow!’. It is the perfect dramatic capture of a special moment between father and son.

I immediately begin to think about how will I be able to tell the story which will do justice to that photo.