Say Cheese

I don`t have a great many photos of myself from childhood. I was born in the mid 60`s so taking and having photos developed took a little bit of effort and cost money, unlike today`s instant pics and digital storage. And anything that required a little effort and wasn`t about my Mother was usually not on the cards. The ones I do have are what I have heard referred to as trophy photos. When challenged about the way they treated me one time they defended themselves by saying they had a tin of photos proving they had always cared for me !

Narcissistic Mothers love a good selection of trophy photos. Photos were taken on holiday or if we were dressed up for some reason, there were a handful of studio taken ones and maybe 4 or 5 school ones and I think just one from Christmas at home where I was ordered to pretend to carve the turkey because that would just look so Christmassy right ? 
The camera was never picked up to savour those `of the moment` memories. They were always posed and never natural, we were always on parade as it were and the picture was then kept as a kind of proof that we were a happy family who lived a wonderful life, well dressed, well cared for, laughing and joking and having fun. Nothing could be further from the truth. Usually tense and wary I tended to smile with my mouth closed rather than a very wide toothy grin ready to break into laughter. Mother didn`t like that, Show ya teeth Amanda she would bark. 
I never liked having my photo taken as many people don`t. Not only was I self-conscious but I always found fault with myself and feeling not good enough I naturally felt I never looked good enough either. 
 Looking through the very sparse selection to see what I can post I noticed in the ones of me took by my Mother I had just about made it into the corner of the shot. That`s just where she liked me to be, almost out of the picture, on the sidelines. 

Taken in the garden of my Aunt`s cottage

Western Super Mare~1960`s

Our car, Mother`s chair, carefully positioned by the windbreaker and Dear Little Amanda, well half of her I suppose ! I was proudly showing the sandcastle I had made, not that you would know !

I was allowed a rare treat of a pony ride on one holiday. I had a passion for horses and begged for a photo to be taken. When they were developed there were two, one with half a pony and one with me decapitated. Oh how she laughed.

At my Aunt`s Cottage

`Sit up properly Amanda.....oh, you weren`t showin ya teeth` I never knew why showing my teeth was so important other than proof they hadn`t been punched down my throat.

 I had the most gorgeous photo taken of my daughter at her toddler group. I was thrilled with it and told my Mother how beautiful she looked. When I delightedly showed her the photo the broad smile fell of her face as she exclaimed with bitter disappointment..."oh..er ain`t showin er teeth". I could of bloody throttled her. My own fault really, running to Mother with something to show her you were thrilled about only ever ended one way....she produced a nice sharp pin to burst your bubble with.

She would have her photo taken with the children if she was dolled up but otherwise she would protest and say she didn`t look very good. As a narcissist it never registered the photo was about a happy snapshot with the Grand children not about her perfect image.

Any photos of the children I had developed would be rifled through, the perfectly posed ones she would help herself to and I often noticed them stuffed behind something when the novelty and bragging was over, often creased or marked in someway. I got wise to this and began only showing her the ones I was happy for her loose or damage.

My wedding photo went up and down off the wall like a yoyo depending on if I was in favour or not. When she died I found it at the bottom of a draw.

This one which has been cut around was from my dear Uncles house after he died. He had cut it so it would slip into the edge of a frame holding a photo of his other niece and nephew, I thought that was so nice. What she had tried to do to my hair I have no idea.