Early years were a shroud, man....

I was over at Mama Polt's house earlier this week, and somehow the topic turned to old photos. And we started looking through some. And I found a number of photos of your Uncle Polt as a wee lad (...and not so wee lad, as well). I thought, hey, if I can't laugh at myself, well then who CAN i laugh at (other than Jerry Springer guests, ladies with more facial hair than me, and Bushie whilst attempting to speak, that is)? So, here below, I give you...

POLT......The Early Years! (for God's sake, go easy on me...and don't piss yourself laughing)

This is the first photo we could find of me. I'm 3 months old here. And apparently, I just woke up and crawled from under the blanket. And ya know, nothing's changed about the way I wake up or the way I look when I wake up since then.
















Okay, this is me at 6 years old. And no I did not pick this outfit out myself. Why a mother would dress her young son all in pinks for a professionally taken photo is beyond me. Thats kinda freaky even for the early 70s. Maybe she suspected something in me even then. And that pose...the photographer must have sensed it too. All these clothes were homemade by mom, notice the vest. It's the beginning of a re-occuring theme.

















Uncle Polt at 7 years old. Not only did mom make all the clothes, she cut my hair as well, as you can probably tell. (hey, I don't come from a family of millionaires, they had to save where they could.) Notice the vest. And the bow tie...no I have nothing to say about that. If i didn't know better, I'd think Mama Polt was high when she dressed me.

















Okay, this me at 8 years. the shirt is better an less...festive. I think I might have had some say in choosing my clothes by then. Hair....still the same. What you'll want to notice here is that I am rather skinny here. See, this was in 2nd grade, and all through that grade I was tormented by being called skinny (which i was), weak (which I was) and too brainy (which i was...but how that's an insult is lost on me). They called me scarecrow (which kinda goes against the brainy thing, but they were kids) and I decided that they were never gonna call me scarecrow again. So that summer I ate. And ate. And ate. A whole bag of chips in a sitting, two bowls of cereal instead of one for breakfast, and bowl in the afternoon..with loads of sugar. No way was I gonna get called that again!








And this is the result: a pudgier 9 year old Polt. And it's been my curse ever since...damn those other 2nd graders, it's all thier fault! Anyway, the horrible haircut is still ongoing, and notice the vest. It's homemade, and pink. And I can't blame Mom for this one alone, cause I know I pretty much picked out my clothes by then. What was I thinking? Maybe I suspected the same thing mom and the photographer did?












This is about the same time at the above photo. It's gotta be my birthday, cause I don't see Christmas decorations around. As you can see I'm clutching and squealing over my gift: A Jamie Summer, the Bionic Woman doll...um, I mean action figure. God I LOVED that thing. Played with it for years. Got the Fembot one as well. And I got a Steve Austin, the 6 Million Dollar man one as well, but he was dopey, and the eye thing that you were supposed to look through never worked right. But I went nuts over the Bionic Woman one. God, I was such a fag, even then.


Okay, 10 yrs old and the pudginess (or as my pantsize would have said it: HUSKY) is more noticable here (see how I tried to NOT look fat by sucking in my tummy?). But beyond that, was i NOT a fashion GOD here? The shirt with the plunging neckline, the groovy necklace, the white belt, and polyester pants! yes, REAL polyester! Far OUT!



















Despite the bad hair (again), if there's one thing Uncle Polt is a master of, it's Rocking the Leisure Suit! The blue, almost denim leisure suit! And how about that shirt collar? Could double as a scarf in the winter. 11 years old and in a leisure suit, there shoulda been a law. And just in case anyone's keeping count, there's ANOTHER vest here...
















This is me at 12 years old, in 6th grade. I remember this one specifically, cause I insisted on wearing this shirt, as it was my favorite. Mom and I argued over it the night before, but I was insistant and I wore it. A partially mesh shirt. I should have insisted on a trip to the barber shop instead.


















Before you say a single word or laugh a single chuckle, just think back to how you looked at 13. Yeah, uh-huh, I thought so. Not so funny now IS it? I figured it was time to get the rest of the family involved as well. No, dad is not the X-rated movie producer that he may appear to be. Nor is an insurance salesman. he just dressed that way. And mom...well, I guess the meds kicked in just prior to the photo being taken. (talking about them has thankfully allowed me to NOT comment about my apparel. moving quickly on....)












I could not find a photo of me at 14 (which, if me at 13 is any indication, that's a DAMN good thing). This is me at 15, from my Junior High ID. Too bad it's not in color, cause then you'd see the shirt is a plaidish kinda thing, with the colors being blue and purple. Yes, I loved purple even then. And by this time, I was styling my own hair, as can be seen by the perfect parting and feathering back of it that took me untold hours to get just right.





Polt at 16, this from my Senior high ID. Hair still feathered, I've lost the pudginess (although I'd find the damn fat again in a few years.) And don't forget to check out the neato torpedo white vest.







Me at 17, my Junior Prom. Shadows in the Moonlight was the theme if I remember correctly. Yeah, me in a tux... I don't clean up too badly do it. Oh, and the hair, I HAD it styled perfectly...until the guy driving us to the prom decided to wind down his window ont he way there and yell at the top of his lungs out it. And since I was right behind him in the backseat, the wind hit me full force and...well, you see the result. This was before I discovered gel or hairspray. Oh, and the biggest irony here is, the girl I took, who was an awesome friend of mine, moved out west after graduation, realized she was a lesbian and took up with some chick. I had no idea, I wonder if she knew about me then? One thing I did learn from her was how to remove a bra while kissing someone...not that it does me any good at all now, eh?










18 years old, what a stud. At my senior prom: Camelot was the theme. Other than arriving together and leaving together, this was probably the only time I spent together with my date. I'll call her M. I had started dating her around Christmas cause, well, honestly, I had heard she was easy. And so I asked her to the prom. And we got tickets and clothes and reservations, etc, etc, etc. And then we had a HUGE falling out. Oh, GOD, did we HATE each other during this photo. And come on, she mad me wear a PINK tie and cumberbund! At least sweet Kathy allowed me to wear red. An irony here is, M had a brother about two years younger than us, who I thought was the hottest thing on two feet, but really, when you're dating someone sister, you can't really TELL him that. And then, about ten years ago, I ran into him at a gay bar. He was gay all along! And most flattering, he had a crush on me the same time I had thoughts of him. And at the time he told me this, he also said he had torn his sister out of a copy of this exact photo and kept it in his wallet. And he pulled it out and showed me. He'd had that photo for 10 years with him. Hmm, guess I took the wrong member of that family to the prom, eh? Oh well....



So that's Uncle Polt through the years. If they were my formative years, is it any wonder I formed into what I am?

POLT = listening to "Ironic" by Alanis Morrisette

You have no morals, darling! - Edina, Absolutely Fabulous