The Ping Pong Table (And Why I Photograph Three Generations Together)

The light was fading fast at Lake Louisa State Park, that soft golden hour glow filtering through the oak trees, and I was watching this father lift his son into the air – both of them laughing in that unguarded way that only happens when people forget the camera is there.

But honestly? The part of the session that still sits with me happened later, in their home, at a ping pong table.

This is what three-generation family photos are supposed to capture – not posed perfection where everyone’s looking at the camera, but the real moments when families forget I’m there and just exist together. The competitive ping pong games. The grandmother is making dinner in the kitchen. The grandfather is holding a baby while the Uno cards are being shuffled nearby.

The proof that right now, everyone is still here.

Ping Pong. Family time. These are the days.

The Game

We’d finished the outdoor portraits – the whole family together under those massive trees, the twins holding hands without anyone telling them to, grandma and grandpa standing close after forty-something years of marriage. All the images they’d hang on their walls.

Then we drove to their home.

I could smell dinner cooking the moment I walked in. Grandma was in the kitchen, doing what she probably does every evening, preparing food for people she loves. The Christmas tree was already lit in the corner, casting that warm amber glow across the living room.

And the ping pong table was out.

I don’t remember who started the game, but within minutes, three generations were rotating in and out – trash talk flying, paddles being passed between hands of different sizes and different decades. The kind of competitive chaos that only happens in families who actually like being together.

I just watched. Camera up, following the movement, but mostly just… watching.

We started at Lake Louisa State Park in golden hour, then moved to their home, where real life was happening.

What No One Tells You About Time

Here’s the thing about photographing grandparents with their grandchildren that I didn’t understand when I first started doing this work:

You’re not really photographing a family game night.

You’re photographing borrowed time.

That grandfather in his chair, holding the baby while Uno cards are being shuffled nearby? He won’t hold babies forever. Those hands – the ones that have held jobs and marriages and children and now grandchildren – they’re counting down to something none of us want to acknowledge.

The grandmother is making dinner in the kitchen while her daughter’s children play in the next room. This is a Saturday evening for her. But it won’t always be.

I watched the father with his son at Lake Louisa State Park, tossing him in the air, both of them silhouetted against the Florida sunset, and I thought about how that little boy will one day be the father. How he’ll remember being thrown in the air by hands that felt impossibly strong.

And then I watched that same boy at the ping pong table, playing against his grandfather, and I realized – this is the last generation that will know this man.

Why I Only Photograph Three Generations Together Now

I used to approach multi-generational family sessions the same way I approached everything else – get the posed family portrait, make sure everyone’s looking at the camera, capture the “perfect” moment.

Then I lost my father.

And suddenly every grandfather I photograph carries a different weight. Every grandmother’s laugh sounds like borrowed time. Every grandparent holding a grandchild looks like a countdown I can’t stop.

So now I photograph them differently.

I don’t rush them. I don’t make them perform. I don’t care if they’re looking at my camera when their granddaughter is teaching them a game they’ll never remember the rules to.

I care that they’re there. Present. Engaged. Still able to sit on the floor and play Break the Ice. Still able to hold their wife while she naps. Still here.

Because one day they won’t be.

And these photos – the ones of grandmother’s head on grandfather’s chest, the ones of wrinkled hands holding game pieces, the ones of them watching their grandchildren hang ornaments on a tree they pulled from a closet that morning – these will be the proof that right now, in this moment, everyone was still whole.

Three generations. Ordinary Saturday. Borrowed time.

What Actually Happens During an In-Home Family Photography Session

The Green family invited me into their home during the holidays, and here’s what I didn’t do: I didn’t line everyone up on the couch. I didn’t make the kids sit still. I didn’t ask everyone to say “cheese.”

Instead, I let them play ping pong. I watched the grandmother prepare dinner while everyone else moved around her. I documented the genuine interactions that happen when families are allowed to just be together.

This is documentary family photography – and it’s the opposite of traditional posed portraits.

I’ve written before about what happens in the first ten minutes of a session – how families need time to forget I’m there, how the real moments don’t happen until people stop performing. In-home sessions work especially well for multi-generational families because:

∙Grandparents are comfortable in their own space

∙Kids can move freely and be themselves

∙The home tells part of the family story

∙Real moments happen naturally when people aren’t performing

The Outdoor Session: Why Location Still Matters

Before we moved to their home, I met the family at Lake Louisa State Park for their outdoor legacy portraits. Same family, completely different energy.

The father-son moments in golden hour light. The couple portraits of the grandparents who’ve been married 40+ years. The twins are walking away from the camera, holding hands, matching striped shirts, and all.

What makes candid family photography work outdoors? I give families simple prompts – walk together, play with your kid, hold hands – and then I step back. I’m not directing every second. I’m watching for the real connection that happens between the posed moments.

Lake Louisa State Park. The portrait work becomes the heirloom.

What Multi-Generational Family Photos Should Actually Capture

After photographing three, sometimes four generations together, here’s what I know these images need to include:

The grandparent-grandchild connection that won’t last forever. The way the middle generation holds it all together – literally making dinner while managing the chaos. The competitive spirit that comes out during family games. The quiet moments when someone holds a baby while life happens around them. The hands – wrinkled hands, tiny hands, working hands, hands shuffling Uno cards – all in one frame.

The decorated Christmas tree that grandma puts up every year. The ping pong table has seen decades of family tournaments. The kitchen where she’s made a thousand family dinners.

These aren’t just family photos. This is your family’s legacy.

Grandma in the kitchen doing what she does every evening – while we documented real life.

Documentary Family Photography in Lake County: Two Locations, One Story

The Green family’s session is exactly what I recommend for families wanting comprehensive legacy photography – start with beautiful outdoor portraits at locations like Lake Louisa State Park, then move into the home where real life happens.

You get both: the gorgeous, frameable family portraits AND the authentic documentary moments that capture who you actually are together.

Multi-generational sessions require a documentary family photographer who understands how to navigate multiple age groups, who won’t force toddlers to cooperate during Uno games, and who sees the value in capturing three generations authentically – both in perfect golden hour light and in the middle of a regular Tuesday evening.

Because these are the days. The ping pong games and the dinner preparations and the way everyone still gathers even when there’s no special occasion.

And one day, these photos will be all that’s left.

Everyone together. Everyone whole. These are the days.

If You’re Ready to Document Three Generations

Investment in this work matters – not because it’s expensive, but because waiting is more expensive. Waiting means losing the opportunity to document this exact version of your family while everyone is still here, still whole, still showing up for each other.

If your parents are still healthy enough to play games with your kids, to cook dinner, to be fully present, this is the time. Not next year. Not when everyone’s schedules align perfectly. Not when the house is remodeled, or the kids are better behaved.

Now.

While the grandfather can still hold babies. While the grandmother can still make her famous recipes. While your children can still learn from the people who shaped you.

Let’s talk about your legacy session.

AUTHOR BIO:

Tiffany D. Brown is a documentary family photographer serving Lake County, Orlando, and Central Florida, specializing in multi-generational legacy photography. She is the founder of Lens of Luv, a nonprofit providing complimentary documentary photography to first responder families facing cancer—established in memory of her father, firefighter Charles Anthony “Tony” Davis. 15% of every family session supports this mission. Learn more | Donate