To me, the 1970s photo booth stands for a lot more than just four silly pictures. They have a tendency to make feel very nostalgic…for memories that aren’t mine. I know what you’re thinking: This crazy person has a weird split personality disorder that doesn’t even follow a logical timeline. Well, a little — but that’s not what I mean.

My mom has millions of these little photos. Unfortunately, none of them are in the original four vertical photo format anymore; they’ve all been cut into singles and traded among friends and family. Each one has a little message written on the back. Things like, “Lee, you look drunk in this one! Are you sure that was just a Coke? Love, Cindy.” Or, “Love you, hon — Joey.” Every time I flip through the stash, I feel like I’m living her youth…laughing at the jokes, smiling at the compliments, and wishing I could have been there.


My mom and Lee Ann, respectively.

When we went to Gatlinburg this past week, we had the rare chance to actually create our own memories with this mythical machine. Kyle, knowing how much I value these silly things, found a true blue 1970s photo booth outside a drugstore. I was ecstatic. 

 
Thanks for being a good sport, Kyle. You’re the best!

What I love most about this is that now I can show our prospective children a photo of us in the booth AND a photo of my parents in the booth:


My dad and mom in the high school years.

My only hope is that my kids don’t rag on me like I rag on my mom:


Droopiest collar I’ve ever seen…almost flacidly phallic.