Self Portrait Tuesday 11.1

EIGHTH GRADE




This month for SPT we are challenged to explore different aspects of who we are by dressing up or putting on different "things" that demonstrate those different parts of us. I did not have time to accomplish this for today, so I thought the best way to quickly represent a large part of me was to post this photo of myself from 8th grade.

I guess you could say there is still a huge part of me that feels exactly like this...awkward, young, bad hair, and self conscious. You remember picture day, right? Somehow other kids always managed to be peering around the corner watching you get your picture taken. And you tried so hard to pick the best outfit, get your hair just right, and not blink!

I remember this particular picture day vividly because two things were impacting my look for the day. It was my first school photo with braces, and I had just gotten a haircut that I wasnt real crazy about. I had had my braces for a while, since 7th grade, but this photo would establish me as a "wearer of braces" for the rest of eternity because it would be posted in the yearbook. My haircut was a last minute decision at the salon. I had been growing my hair out all summer and it was down to my chin all the way around. The stylist talked me into getting a real cut because it was picture day, and cut it all back up over my ears again. I was supremely disappointed with the outcome.

Finally, this photo has always represented the insecure part of me, because a boy stopped writing to me after I sent him this photo. I had gone to basketball camp the summer after 8th grade, and like most girls I was thrilled to learn football camp was taking place at the same time. All the guys and girls were calling eachother in the different dorms, just dialing random numbers, never destined to meet because we didnt even know where the different dorms were. One boy named Kevin kept calling our room and we struck up a little flirtation for the short time we were there. Then we decided to write to eachother once we returned home. He sent the first letter with a picture, and for the record, he wasnt such a hot thing to look at himself! But he was OK and I thought he was nice, so I sent him a letter and included this photo, the only photo I had, even though my hair had long since grown out to below my chin and I was much less awkward. He never wrote back.

So there you go, a representation of the awkward, teenage, insecure me.