Click-click. Snap-snap. FLASH! Lean in. Lean out. Smile! Be yourself! Breathe, ah you’re gorgeous! Click-click. Snap-snap, work it girl! Good, relax! The best pictures will be the ones where you feel most relaxed! Awkward positions look great in photos I promise! Flash, snap-snap-click-clickity-click!
And now I sit at the computer and pick out the ones I like. Ah, beautiful! Oh that one’s nice too! The the photographer jumps in, “... your hair is beautiful, darling, long and luscious! Great eyes too, dear. Okay lets edit these.” In another flash my face is smooth, blemishes gone, eyebrows that haven’t been waxed in weeks all cleaned up, and my neck air-brushed . A little fake tan here, a little paler here, oh look how those bags under my eyes disappeared! Wait! That doesn’t even look like me anymore! I never thought I’d say put the bags back in, but please do! There that’s better.
Here’s the disc, take them home; put them on facebook! That’s two-hundred and fifty dollars please.
And, so I do put them on facebook. Comment after comment, you’re beautiful, you look like a model, oh my those are gorgeous! And each one makes me more happy more confident. The magic of the senior picture, no makeup anymore, just a little photo-shop and there you have it- a whole new you! Relax and feel beautiful, and after we erase your face everyone will reinforce that you are beautiful, as long as you look like a Gap model.
I love those pictures- both the airbrushed and the unedited- from that photo shoot. But, when I’m alone I hold up the edited one next to one of me on the Appalachian trail. In it I’m sweaty and without a shower for a week. I’m smiling, surrounded by snow, my hair greasy and pulled back. I can’t decide- in which one am I more beautiful? -Kelsey
I used to press my face to the school bus window each morning and wave goodbye to my mother in the driveway. My sister would also wave pressing her own face to the glass of the front window of our home. She longed for her turn to take the big yellow bus to school. By this time, my father would have already left home for work, but not before waking me up to say goodbye.
Now, I glace in the rearview mirror as I pull away from our new house. My mother is not outside waving, but I know she’ll be up soon to pack the lunches for my kid half-brothers. My sister fixes her make-up in the mirrored visor of my car as we head off to school.
I assume my father is heading off to work, but he lives in an apartment, 3 towns over, and so I can’t be sure. His new wife and her children are most likely also preparing themselves for their busy day ahead. This weekend I’ll drive my sister and I over to their house and we’ll spend the night with them before going off to school again on Monday.
There are a lot of new faces in my family since my days on the school bus. We don’t fit around the same table, or even live in the same school district. But, when they wave me off to college, they’ll come together to say goodbye. And it’s the dysfunction of this family that I’ll long for. Because this is my family after all. I know they are the people who will greet me with open arms whenever I want to, or need to, return home. - Jose
Catholicism means God. It means Jesus. It means Bibles on the night stand.
It means haddock on Friday, and church on Sunday. It means no faggot friends. It means every sperm is a child, waiting to blossom within the uterus of its mother.
And so of course, It means no sex before marriage.
So, dearest mother, I wonder, what does that mean? Because believe me, I’ve heard the stories, I’ve taken health. I know there are countless ways to express my love and compassion. It’s not always just the carrot and the bagel. And you don’t seriously expect us to just hold hands, do you? Do you want us to dance only touching each other’s shoulders? Arms length apart? I’m not in elementary school. This isn’t Junior High.
Television normalizes sex. Billboards show me what is attractive. The internet provides debatable information on sexuality. But the messages the media provides are confusing. And I know better than to trust what the ignorant kids advise at school.
So, dearest Mother, will you talk? I don’t have the guts to bring it up. It’s awkward. But if you talk, I’ll listen. It’s sort of my job as a teenager to pretend I’m not caring about, or even hearing the words you speak. But perhaps your voice is more powerful than you think.
Catholicism doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it.
-Jose
It is Hanukkah, which means that in addition to lighting candles, eating potato pancakes and rugalech, and opening presents on the first and last nights, my father and I will enjoy our own unique tradition. Tonight is the second night, and while all day long my mother and I put up Christmas decorations, right now my father and I are fully engrossed in our special tradition.
We sit in the chair and he opens our old, frail copy of “Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins”, by Eric Kimmel, which we’ve owned since my older sister was little. My father begins the story and soon I am far away, my head on his shoulder and my mind totally relaxed as his deep, resonating voice runs through it. He smells like the candy he is constantly sucking on, and his voice is as dry as his cracked hands that have worked in the un-heated barn all day long. I laugh at his impression of the KING OF THE GOBLINS and all his other goblin-specific voices I only hear one time a year. Yet I know each voice and intonation by heart, just as I know when my father will pause in mid-sentence, lost in thought.
This tradition has extended throughout my life, and though each year it is a little harder for me to fit in the recliner on my petit father’s lap, no matter how short a person I may be, I still always manage to find a comfortable nook in the chair. Though this year my mind wanders away from the story at one point, to thoughts of college applications and drama with friends, I consciously pull it back. I realize I have to be present, to hold on to these moments where I’m sitting on my father’s lap, feeling relaxed and innocent, still able to be protected from the evil goblin’s of the world, because daddy is near. -Kelsey
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Real Teens. Real Talk. – A Blog
Not just about the yearbook.
02/11/2010
Click-click. Snap-snap. FLASH! Lean in. Lean out. Smile! Be yourself! Breathe, ah you’re gorgeous! Click-click. Snap-snap, work it girl! Good, relax! The best pictures will be the ones where you feel most relaxed! Awkward positions look great in photos I promise! Flash, snap-snap-click-clickity-click! And now I sit at the computer and pick out the ones I like. Ah, beautiful! Oh that one’s nice too! The the photographer jumps in, “... your hair is beautiful, darling, long and luscious! Great eyes too, dear. Okay lets edit these.” In another flash my face is smooth, blemishes gone, eyebrows that haven’t been waxed in weeks all cleaned up, and my neck air-brushed . A little fake tan here, a little paler here, oh look how those bags under my eyes disappeared! Wait! That doesn’t even look like me anymore! I never thought I’d say put the bags back in, but please do! There that’s better. Here’s the disc, take them home; put them on facebook! That’s two-hundred and fifty dollars please. And, so I do put them on facebook. Comment after comment, you’re beautiful, you look like a model, oh my those are gorgeous! And each one makes me more happy more confident. The magic of the senior picture, no makeup anymore, just a little photo-shop and there you have it- a whole new you! Relax and feel beautiful, and after we erase your face everyone will reinforce that you are beautiful, as long as you look like a Gap model. I love those pictures- both the airbrushed and the unedited- from that photo shoot. But, when I’m alone I hold up the edited one next to one of me on the Appalachian trail. In it I’m sweaty and without a shower for a week. I’m smiling, surrounded by snow, my hair greasy and pulled back. I can’t decide- in which one am I more beautiful? -Kelsey
Leave a commentModern Family
02/11/2010
I used to press my face to the school bus window each morning and wave goodbye to my mother in the driveway. My sister would also wave pressing her own face to the glass of the front window of our home. She longed for her turn to take the big yellow bus to school. By this time, my father would have already left home for work, but not before waking me up to say goodbye. Now, I glace in the rearview mirror as I pull away from our new house. My mother is not outside waving, but I know she’ll be up soon to pack the lunches for my kid half-brothers. My sister fixes her make-up in the mirrored visor of my car as we head off to school. I assume my father is heading off to work, but he lives in an apartment, 3 towns over, and so I can’t be sure. His new wife and her children are most likely also preparing themselves for their busy day ahead. This weekend I’ll drive my sister and I over to their house and we’ll spend the night with them before going off to school again on Monday. There are a lot of new faces in my family since my days on the school bus. We don’t fit around the same table, or even live in the same school district. But, when they wave me off to college, they’ll come together to say goodbye. And it’s the dysfunction of this family that I’ll long for. Because this is my family after all. I know they are the people who will greet me with open arms whenever I want to, or need to, return home. - Jose
Leave a commentReal Teens. Real Talk.- A blog ON BRIDGE STREET
01/04/2010
Check this out- Kelsey and Jose on Bridge Street to announce the launch of Real Teens. Real Talk. Watch this Video
Leave a commentCatholicism
01/04/2010
Catholicism means God. It means Jesus. It means Bibles on the night stand. It means haddock on Friday, and church on Sunday. It means no faggot friends. It means every sperm is a child, waiting to blossom within the uterus of its mother. And so of course, It means no sex before marriage. So, dearest mother, I wonder, what does that mean? Because believe me, I’ve heard the stories, I’ve taken health. I know there are countless ways to express my love and compassion. It’s not always just the carrot and the bagel. And you don’t seriously expect us to just hold hands, do you? Do you want us to dance only touching each other’s shoulders? Arms length apart? I’m not in elementary school. This isn’t Junior High. Television normalizes sex. Billboards show me what is attractive. The internet provides debatable information on sexuality. But the messages the media provides are confusing. And I know better than to trust what the ignorant kids advise at school. So, dearest Mother, will you talk? I don’t have the guts to bring it up. It’s awkward. But if you talk, I’ll listen. It’s sort of my job as a teenager to pretend I’m not caring about, or even hearing the words you speak. But perhaps your voice is more powerful than you think. Catholicism doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it. -Jose
Leave a commentGrowing Up at Hanukkah
01/04/2010
It is Hanukkah, which means that in addition to lighting candles, eating potato pancakes and rugalech, and opening presents on the first and last nights, my father and I will enjoy our own unique tradition. Tonight is the second night, and while all day long my mother and I put up Christmas decorations, right now my father and I are fully engrossed in our special tradition. We sit in the chair and he opens our old, frail copy of “Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins”, by Eric Kimmel, which we’ve owned since my older sister was little. My father begins the story and soon I am far away, my head on his shoulder and my mind totally relaxed as his deep, resonating voice runs through it. He smells like the candy he is constantly sucking on, and his voice is as dry as his cracked hands that have worked in the un-heated barn all day long. I laugh at his impression of the KING OF THE GOBLINS and all his other goblin-specific voices I only hear one time a year. Yet I know each voice and intonation by heart, just as I know when my father will pause in mid-sentence, lost in thought. This tradition has extended throughout my life, and though each year it is a little harder for me to fit in the recliner on my petit father’s lap, no matter how short a person I may be, I still always manage to find a comfortable nook in the chair. Though this year my mind wanders away from the story at one point, to thoughts of college applications and drama with friends, I consciously pull it back. I realize I have to be present, to hold on to these moments where I’m sitting on my father’s lap, feeling relaxed and innocent, still able to be protected from the evil goblin’s of the world, because daddy is near. -Kelsey
Leave a comment