In Father's Eyes

As this peaceful, white, pure and curious large face lay on a small bed by the window passing time, it suddenly saw a person carrying a black box approach, stop ten centimeters away, and mess around making preparations for what seemed like an age, at which it could not restrain itself from just gazing out to see what was going on.

In the viewfinder I suddenly saw my own image appear in his dark eyes, vivid and transparent, as if I was living in the very spirit of this small life. I was really quite moved as I released the shutter.

I could not find my image in the dark beads that appeared in the resulting photograph. The rays of light coming from the window on the left threw the right side of his face into a mysterious darkness. Those bottomless dark pupils seemed to be crying out to ask what mysteries the future might hold.

(photo and text by Chang Chao-tang/ tr. by Christopher Hughes)

A mischievous daughter and a shy son--they're the precious jewels of my life.

This picture was taken on the landing as we were headed for an outing early one summer morning. The ladylike way my daughter was dressed and the mature way she looked at me gave me a feeling of warmth mixed with fear. I was startled to realize that there might not be many days left that we would get along so closely.

Children, in my eyes, are little devils and angels. Amidst all the running, crying and fussing about, there are darling scenes that make your all your anger go away. I feel life growing in them.

For a busy father, children are like flowers in a garden that are already grown before you know it.

(edited by chang Chung-fang)/ tr. by Peter Eberly)

At my first photo exhibition 16 years ago, a girl stopped in front of this photo and exclaimed, "Ah, he's sleeping so sweetly!" After they'd gone, the boy with her came back to buy it.

I hadn't expected anyone would buy it, because the child in the photo was my son, and his sweet sleeping expression was a very personal experience.

There was a time I was feeling low. One night I was drawn to a halt by that sweet expression. I got my camera and took this picture. I kept a copy for myself.

(photo by Tung Min/ text edited by Chang Chung-fang/ tr. by Peter Eberly)

Mother is cooking in the kit-chen, while our son is pressing his face against the window and making a face at his father.

Che-hsun has been able to tell jokes ever since he was two or three, and he often makes his mother and me double over in laughter. But when he's naughty, he can be very destructive. He ruined a stereo needle I paid NT$5,000 for in a second of play.

Maybe it was due to my influence, but Che-hsun built a camera, tripod and flash with Lego blocks before he was two. Only now he doesn't want to be a photographer like his father. He used to want to be a policeman and a postman and more recently he changed his mind and wants to be a doctor. No matter what he wants to be, my greatest wish is that he be happy and grow up naturally.

(photo by Lin Po-liang/ text edited by Chang Chung-fang/ tr. by Peter Eberly)

This is my son Chiu-pi.

Parents these days pay a lot of attention to keeping a "history" of their children, photographing them every week, but Chiu-pi is nine months old and we've only taken pictures of him three times. It may sound funny, but Daddy is just too busy as a photojournalist.

If he's such a go-getter at recording what other people are up to, how come he's so lax when it comes to capturing his own son? My protests haven't embarrassed him. He says he loves spontaneity, and it would seem artificial if he treated it like an assignment.

Daddy picks up his camera case each morning and heads off to news assignments and when he comes home he still has to be Baby's big plaything. He worries that I nod off on the commuter train each morning so he gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby. The next day, at the crack of dawn, I occasionally hear him, red eyed, sigh that raising a child isn't easy.

Chiu-pi is growing every day. I haven't taken any photographs, but I have seen everything with my own eyes. In the future, all of this will reappear before me as a picture that never fades.

(photo by Chiu Sheng-wang/ text by Hsia Jui-hung/ tr. by Peter Eberly)

Cheng-wei is already nearly four years old, when he had just been born and was taken by the nurse from the delivery theatre to the nursery, dad took the first photograph. At that time, those small eyes had still not opened wide and his hair was standing on end. His small face was dark and creased and really looked quite ugly. But dad was so overjoyed. We had been married for years and at last had that person who would make us a real family.

Leaving the hospital and going towards the after care centre, I began to take photographs of Cheng-wei and his mother together. At that time his face was already pink and shiny, and his feeding and crying made him more like a baby.

Because his mum and dad were so busy working, going out on a lot of assignments, Cheng-wei was sent to live with his grandparents. The air was also better there and he would have people to play with, so it was the best thing for him.

This time Cheng-wei went back he was as bubbly as usual, and said: "I want to go out for a walk!" He grabbed Mickey Mouse and stood on the sidewalk, waiting. What his dad saw in the lens of his camera was a lonely boy standing there in the last rays of the dying sun.

(photo and text by Cheng Yuan-ching/ tr. by Christopher Hughes)

My son and his cousin were playing one afternoon at building dams in a stream. They were having so much fun that we tried several times to urge them to go but they wouldn't leave. In fact, it's easy for children to have a good time. As long as they have a playmate and freedom, a creek can be as much fun as an amusement park or a video game. But we often try to impose adult ways of thinking and feeling on them, and businessmen try to entice them with advertisements, making them grow up too quickly or trampling down their innocent spirits.

We grownups often try to impose our own ideas on our children, but we often wear ourselves out by imposing others' ideas on ourselves, as well. As I was sitting on a little bridge watching the children play and thinking about how free and easy my own childhood was, I was suddenly moved by the children's simple happiness, and I let the two little beavers build a great big dam.

(photo and text by Hsu Jen-hsiu/ tr. by Peter Eberly)

Sitting in a small chair in front of the television, already two full years of age and looking out with a startled expression.

Since having Ali, her every reaction has become the focus of the whole family. Even when eating, we hardly look at the food on the table, because everyone's gaze is fixed on her.

I do not know what home is like for most families, because Ali has Down's syndrome. Most normal ways of raising a child are not suitable, so I can only remember how my father loved me and try to return some of that to Ali. When it is time to sleep, I fan her and lightly rub her back. Ali really enjoys this and it makes me feel quite content.

But I have in fact done too little for Ali. Going on assignments and out of the country I take her photograph with me--but the images of her that float in my heart are more. One rainy winter's day as I left the office and awkwardly took Ali for therapy, I carried a heavy case of photography equipment on my back and Ali in my arms. On one hand I was trying to pay the bus fare and on the other I wanted to quickly hold up an umbrella for Ali. As I lifted my head, I saw her stretch out her little hand--she was trying to reach the drops of water falling from the edge of the umbrella.