Picture Day: Where Dysfunctional Thinking Begins

School children across the country endured a Picture Day this month. No problem for boys. They throw on their least smelly shirt, run a mousse-covered comb through their hair and walk in the rain to school.

Girls spend most of the month agonizing about this one day each year when their looks will be documented for the laughter of posterity for centuries. I dreaded Picture Day like a math test. Each year I hoped my youthful face would bring modeling agents flocking to my door. Not so. Every year there was a lack of agents or flocking on my porch step.

I’ve learned it’s not that I’m not photogenic, it’s just my face is really stupid looking. Let’s travel back in time to first grade, when there was still hope for my photographic future.

1st grade

Notice  the obvious lack of front teeth. Well, my dentist felt my teeth were being lazy, taking too long to grow in. So he devised a tortuous plan to slit my gums, attach a chain to my teeth and pull them down with the help of a pair of oxen. You think I’m joking.

The result created my second grade photo (below) and a fear of all things dentisty. If you can’t tell, I’m the one on the left.

Big Teeth

Let’s jump ahead to fourth grade where, not only did I have to contend with front teeth the size of 2x4s, but with glasses as well. And the homemade, avocado green, polyester jumpsuit.

4th Grade

In fifth grade, I decided to drastically change my look. I thought I could get the attention of my next-door-neighbor Coleman if I looked identical to his celebrity crush Farrah Fawcett. I’m pretty sure I nailed it. (Again. I’m the one on the left. Uncanny, I know.)

Farrah

Things only spiraled downhill from there. By eighth grade, my Farrah hair was in full bloom, in what I hoped would prove a distraction to the hideous silver braces I wore to fix my front teeth that my dentist ruined in the first place.

8th grade

I’ve avoided all things photographic ever since. My husband never understands why I run from cameras and group photos. Maybe he gets it now.

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3 thoughts on “Picture Day: Where Dysfunctional Thinking Begins

  1. Cute story. Ah, yes.. do not feel like the “lone ranger”. I have some early photos that I wish never existed, like when my mom thought she would help spruce up my look with her “three-strand pearl necklace”. As you say, it’s harder being female.. and males just don’t know. Though I had experienced a more attractive period since childhood, I don’t love having photos taken, generally. Now, that I’m “descending into older age”, which we know is like death for women, I’m not having such a good time with the transition. I don’t think there would be such an issue, if there had never been such pressure that has been created. (I’m veering off the subject, slightly)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks for making me choke on my coffee! I laughed so hard with that beaver picture. Uncanny resemblance. Of me, not you. You lived my life! And I only laughed because I can so relate to the torture of picture day. Worse was when you had a great hair morning but your picture would be taken at the end of the day, and they had “hair stylists” to fix it for you! Many a center part did I have to endure. Ugh.

    Liked by 1 person

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