Many years ago, when I was in college, I stopped by my friend Meg’s house to see if she was home. She wasn’t, but her sister Libby was. She was sitting on the living room floor, and had several stacks of photo albums spread around her.

She explained where everyone else was and, perhaps noting the boredom of someone home from college who didn’t want to hang out with his mom, she invited me to join her.

She turned pages lovingly, explaining to me which family members were in each picture. I learned about uncles and aunts, grandparents, and a massive family structure that was confusing to me – the only child of a single mother.

Periodically on the page was a beautiful picture of a sunset, or a car that was treasured, or a tent from a family outing. Libby thumbed mindlessly past them, eager to get to the next family photo.

She was telling me a fascinating story, reinforcing things I knew and revealing new information about her family. Her father was a physician in our small town, but he once served on a submarine in the Navy. Her grandmother could trace her lineage directly to a specific Native American tribe, and Libby could point out strong identifiable features visible in her own and her sister’s faces.

Had I paid better attention I might have learned and remembered volumes about her relatives. However, the real lesson I was learning stuck with me for years – far longer than the names and faces of her extended family.

I learned to take pictures of people.

Landscapes are … nice

Don’t get me wrong. I love picture of a sunset as much as the next guy. When I see a rainbow, I immediately reach for my camera. I understand how classical architecture and beautiful composition strikes a chord in the soul and speaks across ages.

I admire people who have mastered the craft of photography; photographers who wield their cameras like the master painters wield their brushes, drawing extra meaning and understanding from everyday objects.

I envy those who are at the right place at the right time and capture an unforgettable image.

Landscapes are … nice.

Sunsets are … okay.

Celebrity sightings are … great, for you. But if you’re not in the frame, there are far better photos of the star than the one you hurriedly snapped with your phone camera.

However, when you sit down with someone a decade from now to look through the photo albums, it is the people you know personally who you will want to see.

Rarely do still life photos evoke the same feelings in me as one of the rare photos I have of my own mother as a young bride. No picture engages me as much as my grandmother’s picture in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. I can recall viewing pictures of my Uncle Jack, my namesake, who died in a plane crash before I was born but passed on energy that lives in my cousins to this day.

Pictures of people you know are moments in time that are irreplaceable but contain threads to you through time. You’ll never find your hairline in a picture of the campsite, but you might in a picture of your grandfather. And those cheekbones aren’t from the mylar balloons for the party.

Family members are the real celebrities

Last week my wife was working on a project and was asking around, seeking pictures of our family. I remembered that last year our New York family spent time with us at the American Sign Museum here in Cincinnati.

I had failed to take a group photo, which meant I didn’t have anything to offer. My wife reached out to her sister, whose response was also not helpful.

She had taken dozens of beautiful photos. The American Sign Museum is really a great canvas for photographers, it’s hard to go wrong there. None of them contained us.

I knew from my experience that those images showcased her talent, and were visually striking. But I believed that in a generation, they would mean nothing to her or our family.

When my wife’s grandparents died last year, we found several rolls of 8mm film and an ancient projector. As expected, Grandpa’s fastidious care of the projector meant it was in working condition and we coaxed it into gently drawing the film through the maze of wheels and pulleys. We screened the movies last Christmas to a soundtrack of tunes that my research showed were popular during the years captured on video.

There was a great deal of interest from those who showed up in the video, and they excitedly identified people and locations. But when we got to cinematic rolls of the neighborhood or a scenic view, interest waned.

We wanted to see people. We skipped ahead to the rolls that contained family members in their titles, omitting slice-of-life insights to the picturesque 1950’s neighborhood where they raised their children.

So this year, take the Christmas tree photo, or the dramatic picture of the candles on your dining room table. But don’t forget to snap candid shots of the people you love, as a gift to future generations.