How Dare You, Mom and Dad
The parents of graduating seniors in my high school were able to publish a message to their child in the yearbook. Pictures could be added along with the message. My parents chose to use two pictures: one taken recently, and one from when I was a youngster.
When I picked up my yearbook at the end of the year, I flipped to the back to see what kind of embarrassment I should brace myself for. Luckily, there was nothing awkward or humiliating. However, there was something that made me angry – my parents submitted a toddler picture of my older brother, JD.
“I can’t believe my own parents don’t remember what I looked like,” I complained to my friends. “Everybody knows I was a better looking two-year-old.”
When I got home I called my mom into the kitchen and opened the yearbook to my segment in the back. “Notice anything wrong with this?” I asked, pointing to young JD.
“No, it looks great. You and JD were both such good-looking kids.”
“That’s just it…you sent in a picture of JD!”
There was a long pause as my mom looked hard at the page.
“…No, I didn’t!” she yelled. “That’s you!”
Bullshit, like I wouldn’t recognize myself.
I then began to argue with my mom that the picture was NOT me, and even made her prove it, which she gladly did.
Apparently, I don’t even know what I looked like. And as to who was a better looking kid, I have no idea because I can’t tell who is who.
When I picked up my yearbook at the end of the year, I flipped to the back to see what kind of embarrassment I should brace myself for. Luckily, there was nothing awkward or humiliating. However, there was something that made me angry – my parents submitted a toddler picture of my older brother, JD.
“I can’t believe my own parents don’t remember what I looked like,” I complained to my friends. “Everybody knows I was a better looking two-year-old.”
When I got home I called my mom into the kitchen and opened the yearbook to my segment in the back. “Notice anything wrong with this?” I asked, pointing to young JD.
“No, it looks great. You and JD were both such good-looking kids.”“That’s just it…you sent in a picture of JD!”
There was a long pause as my mom looked hard at the page.
“…No, I didn’t!” she yelled. “That’s you!”
Bullshit, like I wouldn’t recognize myself.
I then began to argue with my mom that the picture was NOT me, and even made her prove it, which she gladly did.
Apparently, I don’t even know what I looked like. And as to who was a better looking kid, I have no idea because I can’t tell who is who.