I there’s no hiding that I was an ugly kid. Really, I was a very ugly kid. this ugly. That’s me at 11 years old.
What’s up with the hair? I think I was trying to grow it out, but I don’t know what’s going on with the random wings everywhere. And that smile. I look like a Cabbage Patch Kid.
And WTF is going on with that sweater? Are those CAMELS? And ELEPHANTS??? Gotta love the colour, too. Is there a name for that? Only baby poop comes to mind. And I love the turquoise socks with the duck boots. I was a big.frickin.fashion.plate. No wonder I was a target for bullies. :rolleyes:
Okay, I revealed this horror to you all. Have you got a childhood photo that you truly can’t stand?
There’s one of me about a minute old, screaming and bloody. I’m not really happy about that one.
And then, every picture taken between, say, age 7 and age 21. And most of them after that. I was an extremely cute kid, but a wretchedly ugly adolescent. I still don’t photograph well, but am told I am quite attractive, nowadays.
I’m not posting my 8th grade school photo. Ugly sweater, ugly haircut, big huge ugly 80’s-style glasses, and so much metal glued to my teeth it’s a wonder I could close my lips around it all. Yuuckh. I’m smiling, but I don’t look happy; I look like I just bit into a handful of Hershey’s Kisses without taking the tinfoil off first.
This is my least favorite photo of my youth. I hate the cat-eye glasses. I hate the attempted bouffant hairdo. I hate the memory of having been a pathetic nerdette who didn’t get asked on a date until college.
There is a picture of my brothers, sister and I, that I have promised to set fire to, if given a moment alone with it. It was taken mid-summer of my 11th year. All of us must have been playing in the vacant lot across the street from our house (Detroit). We were all wearing cut-offs and tanktops, we were dusty, hair unkempt (and we all had afros) and skinny. Except for the pot bellies, we could have been poster childs for one of those “just $0.10 a day wil help feed, clothe…” commercials.
Guess what photo my Mom drug out when she met my wife.
I have a lovely photograph taken just after my confirmation (in 1973). I’m standing with my hands clasped in prayer, and looking very pious. Unfortunately I’m also wearing purple flairs, a tight paisley shirt and a hideous shaggy haircut.
When I was 9 or so I was playing football in the yard with my brother. I fell and hit my chin on the driveway, scraping out a big chunk, a week before picture day.
Worse than the huge oozing scab on my face, I was wearing a purple polo and rainbow suspenders.
When I was about 11 years old, my sister (two years younger than I) got a camera for Christmas. She was walking around the house taking pictures, and decided to open the bathroom door and snap a photo of me as I was in the bathtub. The view of my naked backside was developed and returned without any problems – of course, that was the early 1970’s. Today, a similar shot would probably be seized as evidence in a child pornography case. Although I’d consider that judicial overkill, I wouldn’t mind having my sister brought up even today on charges of “causing abject embarrassment” or something of that nature. Of course, even if such a law were passed, it wouldn’t be made retroactive. Just my luck…
My mother was telling me when I was just an infant I was fat and a TOTAL pig. The nurses even had to take my bottle away fromme just to keep from eating too much!
Anyway my mom took a picture of me once sitting outside on our front yard, I was eating a snicker bar with chocolate ALL over my face. And to make matters worse I was soo fat that I couldn’t sit up on my own. So when they took the picture my mom had to keep her hand on my back to keep he from falling back ovver.
(I was old enough that I should have learned to sit up on my own long ago)
There is a picture of me somewhere, wearing the bad colors and clothing of 1969 (or so) in which I have the mumps. So my neck is swollen as if I have swallowed a small basketball. Other than that I was a fairly cute kid.
