As a child Johnny’s dad constantly indulged his fantasies of bootlegging and gangster mayhem.  There was never a man passed on the street without a flurry of questions. 
“Was he wearing glasses?”
“What color were his eyes?”
  “What type of cigarette was he smoking?”
“Who do you suppose he was talking to while staring into his newspaper?”
“Was that the shiny new watch of a public servant or a high powered analyst reading the finance page?”
  “We must always be aware, son,” his father would recite over and over again throughout Johnny’s childhood. 
“You should see what others can’t.  Capture those moments in time and lock them up in your mind.”   Johnny still hears him whispering quietly in his ear though nowadays it’s in a soft cool wind that bends a flower revealing the multicolored butterfly inside.
As Johnny got older he got better and better at analyzing his surroundings.  He also discovered his artist’s eye as he got better at picking out the finest details.  What had begun as a game that he shared only with his father would play an important role in the man he would become.  He spoke of it once in jr high school and will never forget when the teacher called their behavior very odd.  The teasing from his classmates started that day.  He will never forget it.  Johnny though actually had very fond memories of his childhood.  There was always laughter in the house and although he remembered his father being very strict about their privacy, odd was not a word he would use to describe his family.  At least he always assumed father’s rules were to protect their privacy.  In grade school he believed that they were in the witness protection program.  At any moment gangsters dressed in pinstripe suits and super shiny shoes, wearing black felt fedoras with toothpicks hanging out of their mouths would step out from behind a tree with their Tommy guns and tat-tat-tat; just like that his whole family would be laying on the ground dead. 
The gangsters would turn to each other and say “Bugsy, go tell the boss the job is done.”  Now, at the age of ten this seemed like a great way to go out - in a blaze of glory, but it also made him cautious of strangers and keenly aware of his surroundings. 
   Ironically, as interested in the minute details as his father was, photos played no role in Johnny’s life growing up.  In fact, his father would call him in sick every picture day and they would stay home playing cards or just laying around watching movies. That was always more fun than a dumb old picture...until 5th grade.  Jane Swizer was her name.  She had short, curly, strawberry blonde hair and about a million freckles. Her super pale skin looked almost white against the old torn up blue overalls she wore two or three times per week. She smelled like peach chapstick and always chose the seat next to him.  When picture packages were handed out that year, she cut one off her sheet of wallets right away, borrowed his red sharpie marker and drew a big heart around her face.  The she flipped it over and wrote “XOXOX, Love Jane” on the back.  When she handed it to him she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran out the door with her girl friends. 
He would often catch her staring at him with those big blue eyes, but that day his heart skipped a beat and every picture day since.  
“Johnny” she had once asked,  “How will I remember my first love without a picture?”  That was the only time he had ever even considered taking one.  Of course his dad would never let that happen.  In sixth grade he got brave enough to ask his father to take one with the rest of his class. 
“You just can’t son.” was the only response he got.  In fact, that was the only response he ever got.  He knew enough about his dad not to push any farther.  By seventh grade, Jane had moved away so he no longer felt the need for that photo. 
By Johnny’s Junior year, he had discovered how much he enjoyed art and uncovered a real gift for photography.  Knowing his father would not approve, he was careful to never bring the camera he borrowed from the school home.  He took thousands of pictures from random people to animals, nature, and other things he thought were cool.  He played with light, shadows and movement.  His teachers had taken notice of his great shots and the school newspaper asked him to get photos for articles they were writing.  He took action pictures of sports, school plays, parades and student events all over school.  He found he had a flare for the dramatic when he got a great shot of Ms. Woodard and Coach Shawns kissing in the parking lot one day.  His photos had  transformed him overnight into a celebrity on campus.  The problem with his fame though was that his father was destined to hear about it.
May of that year, Johnny had come home to find his father holding one of his photos.  His art teacher had it framed for him and sent it to the house as a gift.  The orange and red sunset set off the white and blue of the lilies in his art.  The deep blue inside the flowers surrounded by the sharp white edges looked like stars bursting against the very colorful sky.  She had placed it in a deep brown frame rich with detail that made the sky look that much richer.  It was a very nice gesture.  However, his dad lost his composer about it.  
“Dad, why are you so against cameras and what's the problem with me using one?”  His dad spoke softly but sternly,
“Nothing.  It’s nothing.  Just give back the camera.”  
“No Dad!” Johnny screamed
“I'm tired of this.  I’m amazing at taking pictures. I like to do it!  You realize we don’t have one picture up in this house.  We haven’t even taken school pictures since mom died!”  Johnny shouted while his father just sat there staring at him in silence.  His dad sighed deeply.
  “Johnny towards the end of your mother’s battle with cancer she begged me to never take her picture.  She wanted you kids to only have memories of her full of life and love.  She never wanted you to see her like that.  She made me promise.”   Johnny sat in silence as he continued.
  “I guess never letting you kids take pictures was my way of holding on to you longer.” 
“Your artwork is beautiful son.  It brings me back to when you were little and reminds me of the games we used to play where you needed to know every little detail no matter how small.  I see you also have your mother’s ability to see beauty in everyday objects.  I packed away her camera many years ago when she asked me to and your picture just brought it all back to me.  Lilies were her favorite.  Did you remember that?  It just makes me sad because I miss her so much.”  Johnny had never seen his dad cry.  He walked over and sat next to his dad on the couch.  “Dad maybe it’s mom’s way of letting you know she still loves you and thinks about you.  I swear I didn’t know Ms. Anderson was sending that picture.” 
“I know that son.  I hope you can understand,” his father continued on,
“You should go to bed it's getting really late Johnny, you have school tomorrow.” Johnny gave his dad one last hug and ran off to bed only to yell,
“Good night dad.  Love you!”
“Good night son.” his dad said in a soft reassuring way.
  His dad must have left early that next morning. The house was quiet except for the curtains whipping around in the cool breeze blowing from the north. Dad must’ve wanted to get a head start before the rain came.  Since his brothers were still sleeping Johnny got out cereal so he didn’t make any noise making breakfast. He noticed it when he put the milk back in the fridge.  Next to his picture which was now hanging on the wall was his mother’s camera.  With it was a note.  I love you son. Dad