Blush
I don't love the camera. This goes back to my earliest memories of being photographed. Pictures taken of me in my infancy are typical baby shots: a happy, smiling, inquisitive child utterly ignorant of the significance of the metal box in my father's hands and its ability to capture my image on film. But from the moment I became aware of what the camera was for, and why it was always being pointed at me and (by then) my younger brothers, my face lost its ability to smile naturally for a picture. Making myself smile for a posed shot, I could always tell there was something wrong: my eyes were too wide or too narrow, my mouth not open enough or frozen in a death grin, my nostrils flared like Wolverine sniffing for a supervillain. Try as I might, I just couldn't relax and let my face do what it would normally do if I was enjoying an episode of Batman, reading an elephant joke, or singing "On Top of Spaghetti." School pictures came out terribly, as I knew they...