There was a period in my life when I would screw up every family photo. The dorky years, from eleven until around fifteen. Hormones hit me hard as I entered my double digit age, and something weird would happen the minute I knew my picture was being taken. My eyes would start watering. It happened again and again when I had to pose for any important photo. Yearbooks, class photos, family photos. Anything that involved my dad having to pay for the finished product, I would be the one making faces or just looking bad. Around the age of thirteen there was another added dork component, pimples. If I knew a professional photographer was coming to take our picture I would break out in at least one gigantic, red zit. On the tip of my nose, on my chin, or on my forehead a pimple the size of a rail road warning light would crop up. Sometimes I'd have one on all three locations, and then my eyes would start to water. I never figured that one out, why tears would start flowing out of control. When I hit high school the wet eye thing still bothered me, but I was saved the embarrassment of the pimple monster. No, I still had gigantic pimples. It was the professional photographers they used for the yearbook. Unlike the Sears guy who came to our house for the family photos, these guys knew how to airbrush a teenager's face.
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