Don't forget to scroll all the way down!
I had hoped to get this one posted a lot earlier, but here we are. This one's for you, Ma.
When I was a kid, you couldn't find a photographer by simply doing an internet search or asking a fellow friend if they knew someone with a camera. Not every town was lucky enough to have a good resident photographer with a studio. If you wanted a nice, quality, family photo, there was one place you could go to with certainty to get one. Olan Mills.
My mother took my brothers and I to Olan Mills on a number of occasions. Looking back, I'm glad she did and I understand why, but then it was hell. I hated dressing up (still do), hated getting my picture taken (still do), and I hated pretending like my brothers and I had some kind of cute, affectionate relationship for the camera for a 15-20 minute period of time (I love my brothers very much), and I'm pretty sure they felt the same way. On one such occasion, while the photographer was directing us from behind the camera, she said to one of my brothers, "Now, put your hand on sis's shoulder." It was b.s. and I wasn't falling for it. My brothers did not refer to me as "sis" and I most certainly would not have answered to it. You can see my doubt and disgust in the photo which was taken a millisecond after her brazen remark below. I'm not sure where the rest of the photo went, but my husband likes to keep this portion peering over the deck of small wooden ship on our bookshelf.