My mom has always abhorred the idea of being immortalized in a photo. Most of the pictures I have of her from my childhood feature an arm splayed across her cheek, or her face obscured by her drape-like hair. But occasionally, a photo will surface of my mom actually smiling. Maybe the camera-holder caught her after she downed an extra glass of Sangria, who knows.
I could never understand my mom’s camera-shyness, because I always thought she was so pretty. Maybe if I looked even half as good as she did at my age, the act of having my photo taken wouldn’t give me indigestion and cold sweats. I hate having my picture taken so much, that I don’t even have the obligatory mother-holding-slimey-baby shot after I gave birth. If I ever get married, I suppose a stand-in will be in need.
P.S. That’s my step-dad with her. Back then, he wore shirts tighter than my mom’s and shorts shorter than Freddy Mercury’s, and also he was really into his Soloflex.