Ansel Adams & I Had Something In Common: An Unconventional Dad

Famed nature photographer Ansel Adams struggled with school. In his later years, Adams described himself as having “hyperactivity” and perhaps dyslexia.

In 1915, when Adams was thirteen years old, his father decided to pull him out of school to tutor him at home. As part of his education, Adams’s dad got him a year-long pass to the Panama Pacific Exposition—an enormous world’s fair that had set up shop in San Francisco.

The fair showcased modern art, exhibits from dozens of countries, and demonstrations of the latest technology. Basically, it was 635 acres of wonder. Adams went to the expo almost every day. He saw the Model T car, airplane shows, and the first mechanical milking machines.

One year later, his father gave him a camera—a Kodak No. 1 Box Brownie to be exact—and took him on a trip to Yosemite National Park.

Adams was awestruck.

“I knew my destiny,” Adams later wrote, “when I first experienced Yosemite.” His iconic photographs of this park introduced millions of people to its splendor. In his memoir, Adams offered this poignant tribute to his father’s unconventional parenting choices:

I often wonder at the strength and courage my father had in taking me out of the traditional school situation and providing me with these extraordinary learning experiences.

I am certain he established the positive directions of my life that otherwise, given my native hyperactivity, could have been confused and catastrophic.

I trace who I am and the direction of my development to those years of growing up in our house on the dunes, propelled by an internal spark tenderly kept alive and glowing by my father.

My Uncommon Father

My dad had a beautiful mind. Professionally, he was a genetics professor. On the side, he was fascinated by ancient Greek, Shakespeare, theology, and electronics. He had a huge stack of Scientific Americans by his chair, which he flipped through while watching Dr. Who, MASH, or Masterpiece Theater.

He sang bass in the choir, wrote to Congress about the hazards of missile testing, and listened to “Live From the Metropolitan Opera” every Saturday while working on home repairs.

When I visited his lab as a kid, he would put fruit flies under ether and let me poke them with a paintbrush under the microscope. He brought home petrie dishes and liquid nitrogen so we could do “science experiments” at home. When I declared I wanted to be a geologist at age 9, he took me to Caltech (his alma mater) to introduce me to a geology professor.

He gave my nature-loving brother topographical maps to plan and lead hiking trips to remote parts of southern Utah. More than once, we got lost. My dad would quip that we had solar blankets in his backpack, so we would be fine spending the night in the desert if it came to that.

As an adult, I began to recognize that my dad was neurodivergent. He was easily overwhelmed by people (and our modest home included five kids, multiple pets, and a couple of grandparents for a good chunk of my childhood — so he was overwhelmed A LOT!). He was not at ease in most social situations. My dad diagnosed himself with ADHD and OCD in his mid-50s, and with a scientist’s trial-and-error, he found a dosage of medication that made things a little easier.

I grieve that he never had a chance to meet my kids. But my eleven-year-old son is named after him, and his relentless curiosity reminds me so much of my dad. Last night, when I went to enforce lights out, I noticed a sketchbook page filled with intricate, interconnecting lines and symbols.

Me: "What are you up to?"

11yo: "Oh, that's my theory of time."

It reminded me of when he was six and called me into his room at 11 pm to say, “I NEED to know what is past the edge of the universe.”

My kids attend a Montessori school — a place that allows their bodies and minds to wander in the best ways. Last year my son’s teacher encouraged him to research Stephen Hawking. After weeks of study, he wrote a biography that included this passage (that, with his nervous permission, is in my forthcoming book Raising Awe-Seekers). It gave me goosebumps:

There are some qustions that everybody wonders. Some of them are related to you, like How do I do this?, and other ones relate to the world, like Where did we come from?

People like Darwin have answered the big questions of how humans and animals evolved, but one person tried to answer where everything came from. That man was Stephen Hawking. Hawking is known worldwide as a person that represents success through adversity. He was diagnosed with ALS at age 21 and later stated that being told that he was going to die really made him realize that life was worth living, and that he was going to live it.

Stephen Hawking’s discoveries and theories have impacted how scientists look at the universe. On a personal level, he inspires me to never give up, no matter what challenges or questions I might encounter. Against all odds, Hawking has left his mark on the world. Hawking famously stated: “I want to inspire the next generation to look up at the stars, and not down at their feet.”

Is there a thesis to this newsletter today? There’s something in here about fathers and big ideas and unconventional parenting. About intellectual wondering and wandering. About recognizing beautiful minds of all types. About taking time to look up at the stars.

Yours,

Deborah

P.S.

In preparation for the release of “Raising Awe-Seekers: How the Science of Wonder Helps Our Kids Thrive,” I’m keeping an awe diary: One entry each day about something that caught my attention, gave me goosebumps, brought tears to my eyes, or made me say, “Wow.”

365 Days of Wonder: Week 8

Day 50:

Here is one thing to know about my husband. He LOVES taking pictures of sunsets. Like, this has been a theme in our 20 years of marriage! So when we made plans to take our kids back to our honeymoon spot, he meticulously researched a camera that could take a time-lapse video. Take a peek at what he captured.

Day 51:

Look who sauntered up to us moments before we left for the airport! My kids’ faces 😮.

Day 52:

When I picked up Cupid from the dogsitter today, he dove into my arms and licked my face for five minutes. When we got home, he bolted into each child's room, jumped on their beds, and woke them up with kisses.

Day 53:

My 24yo niece came up for the weekend. Right now, she’s playing Mario Kart with my 11yo and I can hear them laughing. She brought us real NYC bagels, took the dog for a walk, and helped with the dishes. I love that — though I am her aunt through marriage — there is no such thing as a niece-in-law or an aunt-in-law. I get to claim her without any qualifiers. ❤️

Day 54:

The bookstore I read at today has a therapy-dog-in-training who comes to storytime! Piper let all the kids love on her — and the combo of read aloud, adorably attentive kids, and a sweet pup made for a perfect morning in the depths of February in New England.

Day 55:

My 11yo was up past his bedtime last night. When I went to enforce lights out, I noticed a sketchbook page filled with intricate, interconnecting lines and symbols.

Me: "What are you up to?"

11yo: "Oh, that's my theory of time."

Day 56:

I came across a host of sparrows on a Boston sidewalk — this is only about a tenth of the total number! I watched them for about 5 minutes. Most adults walked by without looking, a trio of preschool children saw them and shrieked in delight.