These girls stopped in front of my camera and wanted me to take their photo. I was filming a marching band practicing in the street. With Costa Rica’s Independence Day rolling around on September 15th, student musicians around the country are preparing for the town’s parade. The music pounded to an addictive, repetitive beat as the lead drummer tried to keep the kids in step. An instructor walked up and down the rows helping the more timid students get into the groove and hit their tambor with more conviction.

The girls giggled and for a moment, paused, and looked at me. And then through me. The neighborhood I happened to be in was rough; kids go hungry; drug use is rampant; and broken homes the norm. The pounding of the drums rose in my throat as I waited for the digital camera to flash the photo up on the LCD screen. I showed them the picture. They looked at each other and giggled just like any pre-teen would. It could have been the first time they’d ever seen a photo of themselves. I turned back to film the band, and the girls ran away, holding hands as they went.