My brother Dave continues to delve into his storage box of childhood memories. Some are delightful, others bring a tear.

This one makes me cringe.

It’s a poem from the literary annual our high school produced each spring. Either I didn’t give it a title or there wasn’t room for one … so let’s call it “The Terrible Teens.”

This is from 1975, my junior year.

P.S. I really couldn’t care less about “our team” winning or losing. But it made for an easy rhyme. And sorry for using the s-word.

God bless him, Dad was always skulking about with a camera, catching us (especially poor Mom!) at times we didn’t want our picture taken.

Fathers should know, after all, most teens don’t want their picture taken without hours of advance warning.

I was lying on the couch reading (probably) People magazine and suddenly …

But for all the scowly pictures Dad took, I remember that magical afternoon we spent at Butler University’s Holcomb Gardens in Indianapolis.

Dad wanted to take my senior picture:

Thanks, Dad. Miss you something fierce.

But I still don’t want you to take my picture.

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“The Terrible Teens” © 1975 Paula Vayo. All rights reserved.

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