A Picture Is Worth A Thousand...

Today is school picture day and I can sum up my feelings about this day in one word:

Crap.

I know-- to many of you it’s an opportunity to show off that new outfit or haircut or teeth whitening, or perhaps you just like having your picture taken (sadists).  For most, it’s certainly no big deal.

Unless you’re me.

For me, picture day is really “let’s torture the fat dumpy kid and draw attention to his swollen pie face” day.

I’m not kidding.

As a kid, there was nothing good about being fat.  Back in the day, there was no “accept everyone” mentality, no political-correctness, no “look at what’s on the inside rather than the outside” philosophy.  Nope, you were fat and that means you were teased.

I can think of few things that bring out the worst in kids like having a fat kid in class.  From what I’ve been told and have observed in my many years of teaching, my fat experiences rank right up there with being berated for a physical disfigurement and being bullied for being gay.  I was called every name in the book as a kid (you’ve heard them all in some context or another so I’ll spare you now) and even had songs sung about my girth (my least favorite was, “Fatty Aron, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door”).  “Family” was no exception as my step dad started in on me from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed.

School pictures were a lasting epitaph to who I didn’t want to be.  They were permanent.  They were on record.

Worst of all, they were in the school yearbook.

One of the most degrading moments of my childhood came when someone left their yearbook out in the hallway when I was in elementary school.  As I picked it up and began rifling through the pages, I saw scribbles above certain kids’ photos like, “cutie” and “hottie” and “coolest” and “love him”.

Then there was the title I had been assigned.

“Fatso”.

That’s an image, my bloated portrait with the word “fatso” emblazoned in red ink above it, that will forever be seared into my brain.

I stared at it and wept.

Is it any wonder that I hate school pictures?

Yes, I know kids can be cruel.

Yes, I know that was MANY years ago.

Yes, I know that I lost a ton of weight a few years back and now look nothing like that pudgy kid in all those endless years of school photos.

Yet, every single time I have a photo taken or look at a photo of myself, regardless of when it was taken or in what context, I inwardly cringe because I still see only “fatso”.

I told you, it’s seared into my brain.

So, today I’ll do my school duty and sit there smiling like everything’s okay, and then, when I get the pictures in a few weeks, toss them to my wife so that she can take one to work if she wants and hope the rest are never seen again.

At least by me.