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True Story Tuesday: The Nickname

March 9, 2010

I didn’t think I had a True Story Tuesday post in me this week, but while lounging on the couch a few minutes ago, enjoying a new magazine and the blissful quiet of naptime, I glanced up at my slipper-clad feet and had a sudden, niggling feeling of an almost forgotten memory. The memory of one rather embarrassing nickname, and the story of how it was earned.

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The setting:

A Friday or Saturday evening, sometime in late-spring, at the campground my family has been staying at every summer since I was just a newborn, and my father’s family had gone to for decades before that.


Me at thirteen

The characters:

Myself, and several other camp friends around my age (ranging from 12 to 14), along with a few tag-along younger siblings.

The scenario:

We had walked up to the field after sunset with the father of my friend Wayne, because he was going to set up a telescope he had brought along that weekend. While waiting, a spontaneous game broke out — this bizarre hybrid of hide-and-seek and tag that was one of our favorite activities.

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Now…in the interest of complete honesty, I have to admit that I might have had a little bit of a crush on Wayne. Which, of course, as a 13-year-old, I had myself convinced was nothing less than true love. He hadn’t really spoken to me much over the few weeks that I had known him, but I desperately hoped just knew that would change once he really got a chance to know me.

It wasn’t long into the game that I was tagged “It,” and everyone else scurried off to hide. I counted, then hung around “Goose” (home base) for a few minutes, biding my time, waiting to see if someone would get impatient and make a run for it.

A shadow darted out from behind a trailer nearby and ducked behind another, so I raced toward the backside of that one, hoping to intercept whoever it was.

It was Wayne. My beloved.

He burst past me and sprinted down the slope towards Goose. Desperate to make an impression, I chased after him.

He must have stumbled — I heard him call out, but in the darkness, I never saw him fall.

Of course, when you’re running pell-mell as fast as you can, downhill, stopping is just not an option. Not wanting to trip over him, I leapt, gazelle-like…

…and stepped smack on his face with one white canvas sneaker-clad foot when I landed.

That made quite an impression, alright.

And for the rest of the summer, I was known far and wide (well, at least across the campground) as “Bigfoot.”

And yes, somehow, despite stomping on his head, I did eventually get the guy…briefly. But our oh-so-dramatic-and-traumatic adolescent break-up is a story for another day.

PhotobucketThe amazing memory triggering slippers.

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Linking up with this week’s True Story Tuesday’s
over at Once Upon a Miracle.
Now head on over there to check out other amazingly embarrassing, side-splittingly funny, or completely unbelievable true stories!

3 Comments leave one →
  1. March 9, 2010 3:20 pm

    Oh too funny! i can see how the fuzzy slippers unearthed that painful memory!

  2. March 9, 2010 5:50 pm

    LOL! Cute story! 🙂

  3. March 10, 2010 1:21 am

    Ohhh OUCH! I mean, yeah, the kid’s face, but even more, your poor pride! That is devastating to a teen girl!

    And I can totally see that would have happened to me in the same circumstances too…

    Oh this was just too funny – and I love that your slippers brought back that memory!

    Thanks for linking up – this had me chuckling, grinning, groaning in sympathy, and full out laughing 🙂

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