My parents announced they were splitting up when I was in fifth grade, and I handled it with a delusional awkwardness beyond my years. I started fixating on weird things. Things like convincing myself I was slowly turning into an X-Man and it wouldn’t be long till my special powers kicked in and I became a danger to myself and others.

And watching Beethoven’s 2nd a lot.

And playing indoor volleyball with the wall of our living room while watching Beethoven’s 2nd.

I also developed a very serious made-up medical problem with my nose. Suddenly, it was no longer an acceptable member of my face. There was nothing wrong with my nose, and yet my GUT was telling me differently. It was saying, “Something’s off about your nostrils, DO SOMETHING!” It also said there was a solution.

My gut's solution was this: FLARE YOUR NOSTRILS — IT LOOKS BETTER.

(Sometimes one’s gut subconsciously wants one’s nose to look like a St. Bernard’s, so don’t always trust that f'er!)

But I was vulnerable at the time — desperate for control over something, anything — so I took my gut’s word at face value. I decided that when I flared my nostrils, presto-change-o, my nose problem did indeed disappear. Like magic. Or like a poor man's X-Man superpower.

Now all I had to do was remember to flare my nostrils at all times until people came to the conclusion that, oh, yeah, of course this had been my real nose all along.

Did I forget all about it?

Nope, I vividly remembered!

If I was having a conversation with someone other than the volleyball wall, then that meant my nostrils did not leave their expanded position. I was really dedicated. What I can’t recall is whether anyone asked me the obvious: Why are you doing that with your nostrils please stop it??? If so, their feedback would’ve been barely received. There was no stopping me from keeping the ill-self-advised momentum going.

Right up until School Picture Day.

When it was my turn to grin and bear it, I marched up to the photographer’s booth, plopped down on the seat, grinned … and flared it. The flash flashed, the lens snapped, and the photographer gave me a thumbs-up like we’d captured ourselves a 5th-grade keeper. (This was back in ancient delayed-gratification times, before things went digital.)

When I got the pictures back, there it was: my enhanced nose, flaring across my face like a possessed Pterodactyl soaring toward its prey. And that was when I had an epiphany: I was one. Handsome. FUTURE X-MAN!!!

The more I looked at the picture, the more all the wrong light bulbs went off inside my head.

It took a Christmas tree bulb to get me back on track. We were making ornaments for our parents in class one day, and I kept staring at my picture against the shiny-red bulb, and … hmm. The embarrassment was starting to click into place, but not all the way because I still gave that freak ornament to my parents.

Nowadays, if you’re ever in a position to sneak around to the backside of my tree — GET OUT OF THERE!! — you’ll see the three of us (my nostrils and me) wishing you a Merry Christmas.


What about you? Yes, you! Any embarrassing school pic moments you want to overshare? By all means, out-embarrass me in the comments section!