by Kerri Reed

Created on: January 11, 2009

Aunt Sophie and the Beehive

When I was ten, my mother and father informed the family that we were going to participate in a multi-generational family portrait. Now, my brother and I knew what a portrait was, but we couldn't imagine our family actually having something to do with it. My father strode around for days muttering things like, "where IS my black tie?" and "so help me God if she causes a stink." So we knew that this event meant a great deal to our parents. This is precisely why we knew it would end in disaster. The Rowalski family of Parrish, Ohio had no business posing for anything, let alone a family friggin' portrait.

My aunt Nellie had a face that would scare away serial killers. Seriously. We would have her over when we watched scary movies as a means of protection. My uncle Bill had huge bug-eyes. He had an expression on his face like he had just been shocked with a million volts of electricity all the time. My cousin Imelda had a pig nose, and my oldest sister, Marjorie had hair that stuck so far out you had to hang your head out the window when you were driving with her in the car. My dad had bowl legs and a big smile, which conveniently drew focus away from his enourmous chin. My mom was a saint, but not blessed in the looks department, if you know what I mean.

So, when my father announced that we were going to waste a whole Saturday getting a family portrait taken, you can imagine the grief that we gave him! My aunt Sophie called in floods, saying that her hair was too tall for such a thing, and my mother consoled her saying that her hair was beautiful, and that we all have our cross to bear (leave it to my mother to bring religion into it). My uncle Bill called my dad and challenged him to a "duel" (whatever that means), and my aunt Nellie came by the house and scared me so bad I wet my pants. So far, this was going very well.

On family picture day, we all stood outside the duplex where we lived, scrubbed clean and looking good. I was wearing my Superman belt with the brown corduroy jeans, and my sister's hair was sprayed so tight that hurricane force winds couldn't move it. We crowded into my father's Chevrolet and headed downtown to Phillips Camera. The only camera store in town with a small room in the back for family portraits. I winced as my little sister squeezed her gigantic bow into the backseat and proceeded to sit on my thigh the whole way there. We looked like a freak show driving down the street. The smell of perfume was so powerful

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