Sarah Nelson Smith - You Didn’t Mention the Piranhas

For Mattie & Jossie:

you make life more colourful just by being in it.

• Part I
  Who are you really?
• Part II
  Come What May
• Part III
  Survive the Crises
• Part IV
  Recover

My dad had a Canon AE-1 camera. A weighty chrome and black machine with interchangeable lenses, it was the worlds first camera with an embedded microcomputer, representing the incorporation of automatic and electronic technologies with the 35mm SLR. The AE-1 was equipped with an electronically controlled, electromagnet shutter, with a speed range of 2 to 1/1000 second, and had game-changing automated functions such as automatic flash exposure control. Even if I had known any of this back in 1984, it would have meant nothing to me. All I knew was that underneath the brown leather carry case with the stiff press-stud fastening, lay a piece of equipment with more dials and buttons and moving parts than my five-year-old heart could ever dream of twisting and pulling and pressing. This camera was a thing of beauty. A thing so important that it came with its own small pink silk cloth with scalloped edges specifically for wiping away the motes of dust that managed to reach its lenses on the occasions that my dad took it out for use. This camera was not for me.

My mum tells me that I cant have been more than five when my dad stormed into the kitchen and, with barely contained fury, said that somebody had taken his camera, removed the reel and pulled out the film from within it. This same person (although, in fairness, my dad had no supporting evidence of this) had given each of the other four reels stored with it the same treatment. At a guess, I would say that such small person was merely trying to find out where all the pictures were hidden, but I digress. My mum, a barrister, correctly surmised that Dad had managed to narrow the suspects down to a pool of two: my seven-year-old sister, and myself. Due to a string of unrelated recent misdemeanours (such as collecting dozens of woodlice and storing them in the fireplace, where they bred, and bred, and bred and experimenting with the car cigarette lighter and the tightly coiled acrylic carpeting of my dads brand new canary yellow Ford Sierra) I was thrust, rather unfairly, into primary suspect position. I have no doubt, my father said, that this was Sarah.

Well, of course theres some doubt, my mum correctly pointed out, so you must ask her.

So he did. Several minutes later, my father returned to the kitchen.

Well? my mum probed. Did you ask Sarah whether it was her? My father, looking crestfallen, confirmed that he had. And? said my mum. What did she say?

My father, confused, said that I had asked him what day the films had been exposed.

So what did you tell her? my mum asked.

I told her that I didnt know what day.

And? my mum pressed.

And, my dad continued, with the air of defeat settling heavily around his shoulders, she said that, in that case, she couldnt know whether it had been her.

Now firmly rooted in family folklore, this story will be lovingly embellished and enthusiastically retold by my mother to anybody who stops by for coffee. With tears of pride in her eyes, she will tell you that this was the moment when she knew, beyond doubt, that her adventurous and mischievous daughter was going to be a lawyer.

Not everyone is clear on the path that their future career will take at such a young age, however. Nor would such predestination appeal to all. But at some point, it suddenly hits us that the future that weve been anticipating, whether eagerly or with some trepidation, is here. The adults who once orchestrated our lives have taken a step back and, in their place, we stand, a little bewildered, perhaps, as it dawns on us that we are now expected to orchestrate both our own lives and those of the children, team members and colleagues who might play a part in them.