.Make friends with the cool kids
. Be good at sports
Neither goal worked out.
But one thing did ‘work out’.
A fellow student named Al assigned me a nickname in Mr Sutter’s science class..
And it was the worst, most insulting and embarrassing name imaginable.
And it stuck- and spread like wildfire. And it was always tossed my way in the most derisive way. By everyone, occasionally teachers.
And since I was in 7th grade, I knew I would hear it for five more years, till I graduated.
That is what happened.
Everytime I heard the name, I winced, and it was like a spear to my heart.
Make friends?- no way.
Girls?- not even close.
Then graduation came, and I went far away.
Tons of girls.
It was over.
Or so I thought.
About 40 years later, I was sitting in my living room and reading the paper. Turned to the obits.
There, I noticed the name of Al, the nicknamer.
Got up, made myself a Manhattan, sat back down.
Al had succumbed to a lengthy illness.
That was good to hear.
Found out where Al was buried.
Hmmm…a vandalism run.
Needed to know-
.Did he die painfully?
.Was he a meth addict?
Could only hope so.
So I raised my glass in memory of Al.
May his trip to hell be on the express with vile smelling co-passengers.
Then I drained the drink.
At this point, you might be saying, ‘Hey buddy, you need help.”
And you are right.
And I am doing just that.