School portraits capture perfectly the physical stages and aesthetic choices of childhood that you have spent your adult life trying to block out. The jacked teeth, acne, mullets, ridiculous outfits, pastel backgrounds—these things all came together to capture you at your absolute worst so your parents could distribute you in wallet-size then put the leftovers in a lock box, eagerly awaiting the day their now-grown child calls and says "we're doing an article on school portraits—do you have any of me we can use?"

Gleeful isn't even a strong enough word for what our parents were while handing over these photos, but nauseous definitely describes the writers who all felt compelled to qualify each of their submissions. Feeling magnanimous (cough*empathetic*cough), we gave them the opportunity to caption their own portraits so they could make fun of themselves before we did.

While the school portrait process has been refined since the first individual school portraits in 1922, not much has changed since since the '80s when we were in school:

• Parents receive a letter from the school notifying them of picture day—some letters include a checkbox to pick the background color so parents can make sure it complements the outfit they have planned for their child.
• Picture day arrives, but you don't realize this until you pass the auditorium on your way to class and see a mess of spotlights, black umbrellas and professional-looking people. Your heart sinks when you also realize you're in a No Fear or Looney Tunes t-shirt because your parents inevitably forgot to dress you in the tasteful pre-determined outfit that matches your selected background.
• You receive a little black comb, which is the photographer's first and last effort at making you presentable enough for everyone to ignore what you're wearing.
• [Pre-digital cameras] The photographer give you two chances at a wide smile and open eyes while your classmates scrutinize, then you pocket your little black comb and go back to business as usual for the next several weeks.
• It's homeroom, and suddenly school administrators are walking around with stacks of white 8.5 x 11 envelopes. Catching brief flashes of teeth and scrunchies through the cruel clear windows, your heart sinks again wondering whether the picture about to be set on your desk will be "tradable" or a "redo." Those with the former get to delightedly start exchanging the tiny ones with friends (and non-friends who asked nicely) then bring the bigger ones home to their parents; those with the latter get to hide the envelope in their backpack and do the whole school picture experience all over again on Redo Day.

The good news: some portrait studios have gone high-tech, allowing parents to select their child's most usable image online AND allow it to be accessed by the national Amber Alert in case their child ever goes missing.

The bad news: these pictures still suck.