Get that camera out of my face! Otherwise, bring on the photos

I enjoy seeing photos of my friends and families online.

Grandkids. Children. Vacations. Weddings. Pets. Holidays. Parties. Memories. A happy, little world, yesterday and today.

I enjoy seeing photos of others a lot more than I like being in the photo myself. I am like a lot of guys of my generation. We never learned how to pose for a photo. We have never had our hands on our hips.

Our good side or bad side? Flip a coin.

We grew up when photos were reserved for the most special occasions. Santa Claus. First-day-of-school. School dances. Weddings. When old Aunt Gertie from Detroit came to town. Team photos. Halloween.

We used cameras, not phones. It might take us a few months to take a roll of film to Gasen’s or Walgreens to get it developed.

Photos were instantaneous only if you had a Polaroid and could afford the heavy box of film. The best photos ended up in a scrapbook, and all the others were tossed aside in a drawer or shoebox.

We grew up in a world when a guy could actually get away for a few hours and not be tracked, videoed or photographed. It was a great world. It’s not the world we live in today.

Photos and videos of everything and every one. I enjoy them as long as I’m not in them.

The only photos I have from grade school were the annual portraits taken on Photo Day. I hated Photo Day. I had to wear a nice shirt with a collar.

A few years, I had a very cool Dickie under my shirt. Mom would add a little of Dad’s Vitalis or Brylcreem to my dry red hair. The girls always looked so pretty on Photo Day. Guys, well, we looked like boys feeling uncomfortable and awkward. “Come on, smile just a little bit,” the school camera guy would say to me.

“I am smiling,” I’d say. At that moment, the camera would click and lights flash. Mouth half open. Blinked.

High school wasn’t a lot better. I never listened to the morning intercom announcements. As a result, I never knew it was Photo Day until it was Photo Day. Four years in a row. Goofball. Same for senior year photos. Not even award-winning local photographer Mr. Ringhofer could make me look posed, natural or scholarly.

In high school, the only time we’d get photos taken was for team photos and the big dances like homecoming, Christmas Ball, or prom. The girls always looked so natural, posed and pretty. Guys looked scattered, with big hair, powder-blue tux and shiny black shoes with white, tube socks.

I’ve learned that are two kinds of people in this world. People who enjoy getting their photo taken and looking at themselves. And people who hate getting their photo taken and look like someone is jabbing a screwdriver in their backs.

Nothing shows my mental uncoordination more than taking a selfie.

And why would I want a photo of myself? There I am.

Hurry up and snap the camera!

For 60-plus years and counting. Looking at the camera, but you’d better hurry and snap it, because I’m easily distracted.

Fists clenched at my side, or hands in my pockets. Squinting, indoors or outdoors. Even my smile looks like a frown.

That’s me, in the first row. You know. Short folks up front! That’s annoying, too. Make us hunch over and look even shorter and squattier than naturally. I’m OK with getting my photo taken. I’m just not very good at it, because, well, I don’t know how to pose, or what’s my good or bad side, and I don’t want to learn.

So please, please keep posting your photos of friends, family and pets. Vacations and milestones. Grandkids. Weddings. Memories. Everyone looks great! Your family is growing up so fast!

You haven’t changed a bit! I wish I was there with you! You losing weight there, Slim? I enjoy all your photos, especially when I’m not in them.