My mother and I recently sorted through hundreds of photos. Some dated back more than eighty years, and others were taken within the last few years. We reminisced about people and retold stories about our family and friends. We talked about how my grandmother advised my aunt to make younger friends, and then my aunt told us the same thing. My mother, like my grandmother, has outlived most of her long-time friends. We spoke of neighbors who became good friends and how sometimes your friends become like family. She told of times when she helped others and how others had helped her throughout the years. I saw pictures of myself as a baby, a child, a teenager, a wife, and a mother. One of the pictures that has one of the best stories is my eighth-grade graduation picture. My braces had recently come off my teeth; my hair was long, but styled; and my mom helped me choose a pretty blue sweater to wear. I was ready.
Like most students, especially girls moving on to high school, I was excited to see how my picture turned out. When I saw it, however, I was completely mortified. What neither my mother nor I realized was that the pretty blue sweater looked more fitted than we had anticipated in the photo, and the photographer was framing the photos from the waist up. Let’s just say that when one looked at the picture, one’s eyes did not go to my face. One’s eyes immediately looked lower at a pair of rather large body parts. I was so embarrassed. I was a young girl. These things were not supposed to be so big! Some girls may have been envious about mine, but what they didn’t know was I was envious of theirs.
I came out of school crying, and my friend from next door saw me. When I told her why, she insisted that it couldn’t be that bad. We all know that girls this age can be over-dramatic. I showed her the picture. One look, and she said, “Oh. It is that bad.” Some may think that this would make me feel worse, but it didn’t. She was honest, and she agreed with me. She let me know that I was not being too critical of myself or the photo. Over forty years later, I still appreciate what a good friend she was that day.
When I got home, I showed the picture to my mom. She called the photography company. God bless my mother and the person who answered the phone. That worker said it was no problem—they would just cut them off. They reprinted the photo after a strategic crop job, and all was fixed. May I say that I never wore that sweater again unless I knew no one would be taking pictures? Lesson learned.
Sitting at the table sorting photos, my mom and I came across the 8 x 10 of that picture. We chuckled a bit. “Oh, that’s the one where they cut off your boobs! What a nice picture,” she said. I thought about how good is it when people—family, friends, neighbors, and strangers—help a young girl to feel good about herself. It is something this girl will appreciate the rest of her life.