I’ve mentioned before how I really don’t like to have my picture taken. I really don’t. I never have.

And even worse, in this day and age, is how photos end up on the Web, out of control. Once a photo hits cyberspace, it can wind up going anywhere without your knowledge or approval. Until this week, with the last few posts to this blog, to my knowledge there are no photos of my face anywhere on the Internet. I don’t even have pics of me on my personal Facebook page. (No, this isn’t a challenge for anyone to start posting pics of me anywhere. Please don’t.) It literally stresses me out thinking that my picture could end up on some embarrassing web site.

I can fully admit that my dislike of having my photo taken is probably completely hysterical, and coming from some deep emotional problem. I was probably scared by a camera flash when I was a baby. The fear of loosing control of my photos online is probably a sign of some pathological control issue. I probably lost a photo of my mother when I was a child. I don’t know.

But I’ve decided that I really need to get over this phobia. So, just like someone with aquaphobia should just dive into the ocean, and someone with acrophobia should just jump off a 12th-floor balcony . . . (yeah, I’d make a terrible psychiatrist) . . . I’m trying to break my fear by doing the very thing that FREAKIN’ STRESSES ME RIGHT THE HELL OUT. But I’m taking small steps to work my way up. So far, my first steps have taken me up to my teen years.

Now, I’m about to step into pictures of my [semi] adult years. I’m bringing brogrit along with me, as I did with my first baby steps, to help keep me less freaked out.

Here are me, our dad, and brogrit, circa 1989:

(I’m guessing the date of this photo based on my shoes.) 1989 would put me at 21-22 years old, and brogrit at 17 years old. Our dad would have been 50, (6 years older than I am now). Look at that hair! Both of us had the curly mullet rockin’.

I have the barest smirk on my face in an attempt to smile, but I was so uncomfortable in front of a camera. Brogrit looks completely at ease.

Here are me and bro ten years later, in 1999:

(The year is written on the back of this photo.) 1999 would put me at 31-32 years old, and brogrit at 27. By this time, we’d long since lost the mullets, but I was starting to sport a mustache and goatee. I’d grow and shave that facial hair many times over the years, but I eventually decided to keep it permanently by my late 30s.

Again, I’m stiff with almost a smirk, and still brogrit is comfortable.

Bullgrit

This is my first driver’s license:

That’s me at 16 years old. No smile; I had already started hating having my picture taken. As you can see in the Issued field, I got this the summer of 1983, before my junior year of high school.

I was tan, wasn’t I? And check out that hair — compare it to my younger pics posted previously. My hair started darkening from the bright blonde when puberty started kicking in. It also started to curl. It was already starting to wave by the time I had this license picture taken. By my senior year in high school, my hair curled so much over the summer that some of my classmates thought I had gotten a perm. My hair has remained curly, ever since. I keep it pretty short nowadays, so the curl is not as immediately noticeable, but if I let it grow out more than a month, you can see the waving.

Back to the driver’s license:

My first car was a Honda Civic I dubbed “The Tangerine” because it was a great orange color. I shared it with my step-sister for about a year until it was destroyed.

This car was my favorite, (until my current SUV):

A late-80s Nissan 200SX. A smooth sports car that I paid for myself, (with my dad’s signature on the loan papers). I got this when I was 19 years old, and I loved this thing. Loved it! I drove it for almost 10 years, and I always felt cool in it, despite its age. When it was time to get something newer, I ended up giving it away to a woman my dad knew who couldn’t afford to buy a car, but needed something reliable.

Where my dad had his favorite cars, (a 1985 Monte Carlo, and a 1955 Chevy), this one was mine. Heck, my dad even really liked this car. Every time I came home from college, we’d wash it in his backyard. (The above pic was taken in his backyard after such a washing.) He made sure it was always properly serviced and checked out, too. He had a mind for that kind of thing, and I know I have him to thank for it lasting as long as it did.

It’s no coincidence that both of my favorite vehicles of my life, this old blue 200SX and my current red Mariner, were both found by my dad. Our tastes were similar, and he had a mind for such things.

Bullgrit

This is me and brogrit sitting on Santa’s lap, Christmas time circa 1977. That would put me at age 10, and brogrit age 5.

For a cultural comparison, 1977 is the year Star Wars [A New Hope] was in original theatrical release. Think about that: this is what kids looked like when the Star Wars phenomenon started.

Notice the front of both our hair: it looks like a notch is taken out right in front. I remember he and I sitting on the curb in front of our home, with a pair of scissors. I cut a lock of hair from both our heads, for some reason I don’t remember.

I really wish I could remember why I cut our hair. Knowing me, it was probably a very rational reason, calmly considered, and smoothly carried out. But I do remember our mom stammering, confounded, “Why?”

Bullgrit

This is a phone snapshot of a picture hanging in the guest bedroom of my mom’s house. The little one is brogrit at about 1 year old, and the other one is me at about 5  years old, circa 1973.

He’s sporting blingy bells on his shoes, and I’m all pimp in my purple outfit.

Bullgrit