"Well,that's what you look like."

Down the hallway, in the living room, on walls, under glass, live my childhood and that of my siblings. Horrible gap toothed grins, home hair cuts, and scraped noses and chins tell the sad and humiliating story. I block it out for most of the year but at some point, we all must go home and there they are. A chronological exhibit of bad fashion, big hair and periwinkle eye shadow, thirteen years of abuse of the most heinous kind, the school picture. On display are bell bottomed polyester pant suits, yellow hush puppy sweaters, yoked jeans, school band uniforms, curly bobs, electric blue mascara, turned-up collars, t-shirts over oxfords, pin stripes and Member's Only jackets. Why? Why? I ask myself. Because parents only see the best in their children? Because no matter how ridiculously high your bangs are or how much blusher you've caked on your cheeks, they are proud? A sign of the unconditional love of a parent for their child. I smile. "Mom, why do you still keep all these horrid pictures up after all these years?" Mom just looks around, "Well," She says "I'm sorry, but that's what you looked like."