Over the years, my mom has divided our family pictures into boxes for each of us. Recently she insisted, ‘Get them out of my basement!’ Our family was never much for taking pictures. As a matter of fact, I have only one baby picture (that happens when you are the youngest of six), so I was curious to see what she could possibly have put in my box.
My sister and I are 17 months apart, and my mom dressed us as if we were twins. The photos we have are of two perfect little girls, one with brown hair, one with red hair, dressed exactly alike. I loved it. Not sure how my older sister, Teresa, felt about always looking like her kid sister, but the problem for me came with the handme-downs. My family made sure to get every possible ‘wear’ out of a piece of clothing. This meant I would wear my original dress for a year or so, grow, and then wear Teresa’s. It killed me that I had to wear the same dress (in different sizes) multiple fashion seasons! (I fancied myself a fashion plate, even back then.) By the way, this is where my four brothers would chime in and complain that they were the ones who really suffered because with four of them, no one ever got anything new. Oh, and they didn’t have shoes until they were 18—liars. Not to mention, who cares? None of them had the pride in fashion my sister and I did (and still do).
The next gem was a family picture we kids had taken as a gift for our parents, professionally done, I might add. We’d never had one before. What makes this portrait interesting is that my two oldest brothers are missing. Now, I can understand John not being in the picture. He left St. Louis in 1970 and just recently moved back, but where was Michael? I remember four of us going to get our picture taken at a studio on Brentwood Boulevard, but why would we exclude one of our brothers? There is a certain glint in my brother Dennis’ eyes. Did he just not tell Michael? Give him the wrong time? Location? Or perhaps for that one day, we just wanted to be a family of four kids instead of six. I can’t really remember what my parents said when we presented them with the family portrait, but I’m pretty sure they noticed someone was missing. They might even have noticed both missing. Hard to say.
Then there’s my senior picture from high school. I went to a school that required a uniform, so I admit my clothing options were limited, but really, was my best choice for this picture a gauzy shirt and ill-fitting jeans? As if that wasn’t bad enough, I am posed in front of a fake ranch with a wagon wheel in the background. I distinctly remember driving to the photography studio with my hair in curlers, hoping I would have that ‘parted down the middle straight look’ that was popular in 1978. I also remember the photographer insisting I pose in front of the ranch set, and me not wanting to. The smirk on my face says it all. But the bigger question is: Why would I pick that as my senior picture? Certainly there was one where I was actually smiling? No, I picked the one where I look like a smart ass, gauzy shirt and all.
There is not a doubt in my mind that some of our photos would qualify for awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Well, to be honest, most of them would. But there is also something very revealing in our eyes. Even with all the yelling and fighting we did as kids, it sure looks like we loved each other.
Contact Patty at phannum@townandstyle.com.
