There are certain trips that linger in your memory long after the bags are unpacked. One of those for me was a long weekend in Brooklyn with the kids. We filled the days with subway rides, pizza slices, laughter, and the kind of endless walking that only New York City demands. But for me, some of the most meaningful moments happened at night—alone on the rooftop of our Brooklyn hotel, camera in hand, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline.
I must have slipped up there half a dozen times that weekend, drawn by the energy of the city that never seemed to sleep. The view was breathtaking—towering buildings, thousands of glowing windows, and the Freedom Tower shining like a beacon above it all. One night around 11 p.m., I captured the photograph you see here. It wasn’t just another picture of New York City; it became a time capsule of who we were then as a family.
That night, as I quietly put on my jacket, my oldest stirred and asked, “Where are you going, Dad?” I whispered back, “To take pictures of the city.” She blinked, smiled, and said something that has stayed with me all these years: “Camera on, dude.”
It was such a simple phrase, but it felt like a reminder to stay present. To keep noticing. To hold onto the fleeting beauty of family, travel, and the small in-between moments that slip away too quickly.
Looking back now, with the kids grown and living their own lives, I treasure that Brooklyn rooftop even more. The city skyline is timeless, but our time with our children is not. The photograph reminds me that life, like New York at night, is brilliant and fleeting. It’s a gift to be noticed, captured, and remembered.
So whenever I see that image, I hear my daughter’s voice again: “Camera on, dude.” And I remember to keep the lens open—not just on the city, but on the moments that matter most.
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