Self-Deprecating Sunday (8)

In which the YA author showcases her teenage years in all their awkward wonder.

This is my eighth grade school photo. I kind of can’t believe I’m posting it. Can you imagine if I’d worn my blue glasses? You know what I remember about this photo?  It was re-take. I hated my first one. But this one…this one! It made me look good! What can we learn from this photo? I really don’t know. Seriously, how do I spin this into something positive?

Also, is there anyone who reads this blog whose former fro is jealous?

Published by jody sparks

Jody Sparks Mugele spent her first career in marketing writing and leading teams of writers and editors. After her son came out as transgender in 2015, she dedicated herself to advocating for the rights of the LGBTQ+ community. For two years, she led the Indianapolis regional chapter of PFLAG, a nationally renowned LGBTQ+ advocacy group. She has given many conference talks about parenting trans kids, healthcare in the trans community, and suicidality among LGBTQ+ youth. And with GenderNexus, an Indianapolis-based advocacy organization, she created programming and led support groups to work with parents to help their children through all aspects of gender transition. She recently moved to Northeast Georgia where she is excited to develop opportunities to continue to strongly and proudly advocate for LGBTQ+ members of our society. She also LOVES kitschy Christmas crafting!

8 thoughts on “Self-Deprecating Sunday (8)

  1. As a recovering “mall bangs with wings on the side” woman, this issue is dear to my heart. My eighth grade picture–never allowed to be entered into the digital world–was similar, but it was not as soft and flowy as yours. I added gel-icious crunch to the order.

    I declare that we must celebrate our own follicular evolution, and count ourselves lucky. There are those in this world whose sensitivities have been so fogged with hairspray, they still celebrate their sculptures of hair and Salon Selectives Uberhold or Dippity-do Immobile as, quite literally, the height of hair style. They (and the collars of their shirts) still cling to the tresses of former glory.

    I believe what we must learn is that hairdressers are powerful people. We must respect their influence, especially when delivering the maiden manes of our daughters into their care. The clawed-coiffs they reigned down on so many of us must not be forgotten. Even today, there are those “stylists” whose greatest dream is to fit an unwitting head with a lady-mullet so powerful the only path to redemption is to follow the brave example of Sinead O’Connor circa 1990.

    There is one ringlet of nostalgia I get all warm and frizzy about though: the bang-height Olympics. As a curly-headed competitor, I was never successful in winning the vertical challenges against my straight-haired friends. The humidity in Southwest Virginia always thwarted my greatest tease-and-spray efforts, rendering my chestnut locks into a tightly coiled helmet, my dreams of the perfect straight up and down ‘do dashed in a tangle around my hopeful adolescent head.

    I salute your courage in sharing your wings of glory.

  2. wow. that’s pretty bad. though i have to ask… is there anyone who likes the way they looked in the 80’s? It was just a bad decade for everyone!

  3. If I don’t see your bangs like this tomorrow at the office I will cry. Although I will do the same if you do…so…take your pic. whining cry, or doubled over cackle?

    1. I MIGHT do this and take a pic. There’s NO WAY I’m showing up to work like this; you never know when a good-looking man might hold the door open for you on your way into the building. Mostly I’ll do it just to see you do the same. So many kinds of AWESOME!

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