Welcome to a new segment of Muldo.Net: Things I Did in High School. From time to time, I’ll highlight an event, activity, or story that happened during my salad days at Thomas Jefferson High School in the South Hills of Pittsburgh from 1997-2001. Today’s installment: Ridiculous Senior Photos.
It was September of 2000. The first season of “Survivor” had just taken the nation by storm, Al Gore and George W. Bush were fighting for the presidency, and the summer Olympics took place in Sydney, Australia.
A world away, I just turned 17 and was working part time at a local movie theater as I began my senior year. Of course, with senior year came a rite of passage which every human being must partake: Senior Pictures. I was never one to shy away from a camera, so I approached the day with excitement. It’s not very often that you get a professional photographer to perfectly capture you while you’re looking your best.
My mom hired a husband and wife team to capture my essence. I picked out several of my best outfits, or what my mom said were my nicest, and drove to their office at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon to begin my day as a model.
Based on conversations I had with classmates, I expected to be finished in 30 to 45 minutes and back home with a belly full of dinner in time to watch “Big Brother.” I was wrong. Five hours, four costume changes, and three locations later, we had used up most of the photographer’s memory stick and a good portion of my sanity.
The shoot began at their studio, where I took the typical suit-and-tie senior portrait. We then moved to an old railroad bridge for a more industral look, and finished that up with scenes near a quaint babbling brook, showing my love of nature.
The most ridiculous result of this was the picture to the right. They posed me next to a rusty support beam and directed me to longingly look into the lens while doing a Spider-Man style pose.
The end result? My mom spent a lot more money on senior photos than most parents, and because of the volume of pictures, felt obligated to purchase more. This led to what my family called the “Ryan Shrine,” a collection of about 8 photos, separately framed, but in a collage style that adorned the living room wall for 7 years. It was a running joke and was eventually moved into the spare bedroom that people rarely enter.
As for me, I was exhausted and bewildered by the amount of time taken for something not very important. Looking back, I realize it was all worth it. These photos represent memories to be both cherished and laughed at.
