Photo Pigeon

This was written many many years ago, for an old blog of mine that no longer exists.  Still, it’s a fun look back and I think you’ll enjoy it.

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     I always think it’s interesting to see pictures of people as children, especially people that I know personally. It’s great to see how they grew and changed. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you even get to glimpse some personality in their eyes or face. I always wonder what made them the person they are now compared to who they were then.

     However, when the tables are turned I always hate for people to see pictures of me when I was younger. Well, to be completely honest it’s only the pictures of me in high school and middle school that make me cringe. Still, I try my best to keep people from ever seeing pictures of me from a certain period of time.

     That said, this entry is a lesson. A lesson for me. Maybe for you. What lesson is it? I don’t know. Not yet. But I’m sure it’s there. We’ll just have to find it together. So here we go.

     The year, according to the picture, is 1978. If that’s right I’m about a year old in this picture. I look happy, don’t I? All blond curls and smiles. I’m sure I was happy, though. I mean, what’s there to not be happy about when you’re a year old? You get bathed, you get fed, you get to run around naked and no one thinks it’s wrong… It’s paradise. Except for the whole bathroom thing. But that got better with time.

     Now it’s 1980 and I’m three, “almost four” according to the back of the picture. My blond hair is now getting to its normal brown and my eyes are still dark blue. I really don’t remember anything from this period in life except maybe that my sisters were going to school and leaving me at home alone which surely upset me. But life, on the whole, was still pretty good. And I still had my looks. Well, for a three year old I had my looks.

     It’s now my first year of school. Kindergarten. 1982-83. I’m now five or so. Still happy. Same eyes. Tiny teeth. Different hair style, thank the gods. I remember a few of my friends from Kindergarten: J.W., Jeff, Clay, Nicole… Days of fingerpainting and trying to trace my ABCs on huge pieces of lined paper. Nap times. My first innocent kiss with a girl. Those were the days.

     I’m not sure if this picture was before or after the one just above, but it came out of the frame in this order so I’m going to assume it’s later on in 1983. So, what is with my hair!? This is what happens when kids let the parents decide on the hair style. I look like I’m wearing a big mushroom on my head. And those tiny chiclet teeth… Sheesh. Well, at least I’m still happy at this point. And skinny. But that will change soon enough.

     This is a nebulous picture in that I have no idea in what year it was taken. It may not be in the right place chronologically but I’m sure it goes in this time frame. So, here I am again. Here I’m getting into my later habit of not showing my teeth when I smile, so that’s not good. But at least I’ve got that damn mushroom off my head. And skinny. I was skinny.

     This picture, I think, is about when I’m in third grade so I’d be about eight I think. I’m starting to get pudgy here, a trend that continued unfortunately. I’ve also lost my tiny baby teeth and had them replaced with huge, crooked horse teeth. Still, I don’t look all that bad. Third grade was a good grade. With the exception of the incident with the pencil (long story) it was great. Nick and Jeremy were my best friends and I was always chasing girls around the playground. Well, when I wasn’t protecting them from the other boys.

     I’m about ten now and in fifth grade. Pudgy, pudgy, pudgy. And those teeth. Oy. Still, the hair is okay and the complexion is clear. I do have glasses at this point, but I must have taken them off for the picture. Fifth grade… I loved my teacher but Jeremy had moved back to Michigan. I was made fun of a lot for being fat, especially by Jason and his friends, but I still had a couple of good friends that I could count on, like Michael. The journey of life is about to take me into puberty and sixth grade. Lost innocence and more cruelty from other kids. What fun…

     I’m in sixth grade now. Pudgy, crooked teeth, and glasses. But it couldn’t get worse, could it? Hmm… Nice glasses, huh? Plastic. Quality. And a sweat shirt, too. I spared nothing for picture day. Sixth grade was when I realized that I was gay and I made one last attempt, juvenile as it was, to have a girlfriend. We were both in band and played trumpet. Before she moved away she gave me a bracelet that I still have to this day. For a few years she continued to send me Christmas cards. I wonder where Kelly is now…

     Okay. The year is now about 1989-90. I’m twelve, in seventh grade, and starting to get oily skin and zits. Later in the year I’d also get braces. I was a total loser then. A band geek with bad skin, glasses, and braces. Go me. And yet another sweatshirt. I think they were the only things I wore back then. Probably because they covered my body the most. There was really nothing truly memorable about seventh grade. It was just another year. The year I hit puberty, or maybe I should say the year that puberty hit me head-on.

     Here it is, folks. The worst I ever looked. Actually, if it weren’t for the zits and braces I’d say it was probably the best I’d ever looked. I’d finally hit a growth spurt and my height/weight ratio was almost normal. Almost. Still, with the exception of my hair style in tenth grade (which you’ll see later) this is the worst I think I looked. I still had glasses but, again, they were off for the picture. I was also on medication for my acne. Yes, it was that bad. This must be about eighth grade. I was pretty much established by this point. I had the “childhood enemy,” Jason, still making fun of me, I had a core of good friends, I was musically inclined. That much wouldn’t change for quite a while.

     I’m finally in high school. My skin has pretty much cleared up but Im’ still wearing glasses and still have my braces. Yuck. And, though it’s hard to tell in this picture, my hair is down to my shoulders. Not a good look for me but one that I held onto doggedly for a while. I’m wearing my band uniform in this picture. It was just after band practice one day so not only am I sweaty and tired, but I was apparently unhapppy about getting the picture taken. This was also the year of “no smiling” because I was so self-conscious about my smile thanks to the braces. But, overall, ninth grade was okay. I had a lot of friends in band and choir and I realized that I really did have a talent for music and writing. I was also fifteen and learning to drive. Yeah, baby. Jason was still a problem, but he gave up picking on me after I stopped reacting to him. Go figure.

     This is tenth grade. And yes, that’s a perm. See? I told you that things got worse later. Perm. What the fuck was I thinking? Well, whatever look it was I was going for, I missed it. Sure, the perm was easy to take care of and it was a hit when it became an afro for Halloween, but it just screamed “homosexual” at the time. Tenth grade was when I went through my “preppy” phase. I got in the habit of wearing shirts and ties to school almost everyday. Hey, it was my personal statement. What that statement was I have no idea, but it worked for me at the time. Better than the make-shift noose and cut-off sweats I used to wear the year before, huh?

     And that brings me to college, which is as recent as the pictures get. The first picture, in the top left corner, was taken about 1997 I think. It was supposed to be a face shot for auditions at Theatre West Virginia (which I didn’t to too hot at). Terry took the picture for me. I like it. It’s a good one all-around.

     The second picture, top right, is me as Cristola, the college newspaper’s staff astrologer. I wrote the horoscopes for them on the side and it was fun. And people actually like them. Go figure. A good silly picture.

     The third one, bottom left, was taken backstage at a children’s theatre production. I was in it, but only marginally so I had a lot of time to kill backstage. I’d found this hat, complete with curls down the sides (which you can’t see in the picture) and I went around pretending to do a bris. Hey, it was fun.

     The last one, bottom right, is the most recent, taken in 1998 around Thanksgiving. If you see the whole pic it’s pretty good. I’m happy with the way I look in that picture.

     My college days were great. I came out to my family, I had my first boyfriend and second boyfriend, fell in love for the first time, smoked pot, got drunk, got involved with theater and campus politics via the ever-powerful “letter to the editor,” and still managed to graduate with honors. How’s that for a great five years?

     And that’s the end of my pictorial quest for… something. I can see how my level of happiness (or perceived happiness) at a certain point in time is reflected in the pictures. I mean, the most miserable I ever was was probably eighth and ninth grade. I mean, in between hormones, zits, growth spurts, and dealing with the fact that I liked boys (a LOT) I had a hell of a time. And I think it probably shows. But I think this raises an even bigger question for me.

     How did I ever grow up from such a sweet little boy to be such a… me? What events so touched me that I took the paths that I did? Why did I choose this and not that? Why did I get fat? Why did I like music and theater? Why didn’t I stand up for myself more often?

     Of course, I’ll never know the answers. I don’t think we’re meant to know. Life can’t be lived in retrospect. Everything’s a learning experience. The choices we make today may not impact our lives for years down the road, but they will have an impact no matter how minute.

     And if you can look good while handling that, you’re doing pretty damn well.