Awkward Family Photos - Mike Bender [4]
Collin
Edmonton, Alberta
This is one of my 1988 dance recital portraits from the Dancer’s Studio in Dearborn, Michigan. I was twelve years old and obviously at that stage where I had no idea what to do with my body. Everything was out of proportion; my glasses were too big, my tights were too big, and I could never get my bangs right. The photographer posed us, and for me, there was really no other option than the jazz hands.
Adriana
Dearborn Heights, Michigan
Ever wonder what the kid with the clarinet is really thinking?
hildhood is a confusing journey. We all need a teammate, someone who’s got our back. Someone who understands our frustrations because they live under the same roof, who has to deal with the same house rules, and the same cringe-inducing parents. This kind of support would be wonderful … but instead we have siblings.
They know us better than anyone, which really means they know how to press our buttons better than anyone. They steal our toys, pull our hair, punch us, and then tell Mom and Dad that we started it. We tell them to go away, but they’re everywhere—torturing us in the bathroom, at the dinner table, from the bunk above. And just when we’ve written them off completely, something strange happens … they do something nice. Maybe it’s confronting the school bully, giving us some good advice, or covering for us when Mom and Dad get upset. In that moment, we truly feel connected with our brother or sister; they become the partner in crime we always hoped they would be. And even though they’ve got us in a sleeper hold five minutes later, we’re suddenly okay with it, because we now know it’s just their unique way of showing that they love us.
These siblings demonstrate an impressive ability to keep their hands to themselves.
Sometimes the youngest can feel a bit overshadowed.
These three decided to hitchhike to the portrait studio just because they could.
This little girl finally found something to smile about.
We spend most of our childhood telling them to leave us alone. Then some photographer gives them permission to put their hands on us and we’re supposed to smile about this? Not a chance.
Nick’s sister felt the need to prove that she was also into fighter jets.
A very supportive older brother.
They have finally accepted their recreational differences.
This is a picture of my brother and me taken in the mid to late eighties. At the time, we must have been somewhere between fifteen and seventeen years old and we pretty much spent all of our time in all-out teen sibling war (screaming, door slamming, insults). Why the photographer chose to make it look like he was a figment of my imagination I’ll never know, but it sure would have been nice if he was.
Anna and Dane
Vancouver, British Columbia
We were always at the height of Iowa style (hence my bowl haircut and my sister’s permullet). Lucky for us, my dad had connections in the optometry industry, giving us the unique privilege of wearing the latest, huge, Photo Gray lenses.
Michael and Susan
Norwalk, Iowa
I’m the one on the far right, with a black eye my sister gave me. She wanted to braid my hair; I refused and pushed her arms away. Naturally, she belted me in the face.
Tracy
Port Alberni, British Columbia
It was just after my fourth birthday when my mom and dad decided it would be fun to take my older sister, Lauren, and me on a vacation to a ski resort in Michigan. The trip would have been a good chance for some family bonding, but since I was too young to be in their ski group, I got sent to the “ski babies” club.
When my mom came to pick me up at the end of the day, she saw that I had been put underneath a table with a homemade sign that read “timeout.” She was then informed that