I was a Preteen Fag
"Fag" was Late-70s/Early-80s youthspeak for nerd, dork, uncool, unpopular, and other such unpleasantries of young life. When I moved to a new school in sixth grade, I left behind the set of friends I'd grown up with and tried to fit into a new locale from scratch.
You were a fag if you had zero talent in sports. You were a fag if you were a boy who carried the style of book bag generally regarded as the girls' bookbag. I did both those things, plus after puberty I was one of the last holdouts in class to practice pre-pubescent hygiene habits, with a little bit of all around dorkiness rolled in for good measure. I was the quintessential fag, and was reminded of that at various times, like when I'd try to poke my nose into a gathering, or look at somebody. Or ignore everyone and keep to my own thoughts. You know, that sort of thing.
"Get away from me, Gleeson, you fag!"
"Shut up, fag! You can't laugh at our jokes."
"You know why nobody likes you? Because you are the biggest fag, that's why!"
A couple times a year, the alma mater sends out a solicitation for a contribution along with a return slip to share personal news with your graduating class in the alumni newsletter. On a whim, I hand lettered a brief statement, mailed it back and forgot about it until I pulled the most recent newsletter from the stack and read it tonight.
It starts out, "Kevin Gleeson is married to Erik."
Oh, what they must think now!
It was a misprint. My wife's name is Erika, but they've never met her. And while there was no Erika in our graduating class, we did have an Erik.
You were a fag if you had zero talent in sports. You were a fag if you were a boy who carried the style of book bag generally regarded as the girls' bookbag. I did both those things, plus after puberty I was one of the last holdouts in class to practice pre-pubescent hygiene habits, with a little bit of all around dorkiness rolled in for good measure. I was the quintessential fag, and was reminded of that at various times, like when I'd try to poke my nose into a gathering, or look at somebody. Or ignore everyone and keep to my own thoughts. You know, that sort of thing.
"Get away from me, Gleeson, you fag!"
"Shut up, fag! You can't laugh at our jokes."
"You know why nobody likes you? Because you are the biggest fag, that's why!"
A couple times a year, the alma mater sends out a solicitation for a contribution along with a return slip to share personal news with your graduating class in the alumni newsletter. On a whim, I hand lettered a brief statement, mailed it back and forgot about it until I pulled the most recent newsletter from the stack and read it tonight.
It starts out, "Kevin Gleeson is married to Erik."
Oh, what they must think now!
It was a misprint. My wife's name is Erika, but they've never met her. And while there was no Erika in our graduating class, we did have an Erik.
Labels: laugh break, recollections, St. Giles
posted by Kevin Gleeson at
10:53 PM
2 Comments:
I noticed you forgot to mention whether or not you sent money with the return envelope. If so, that could explain the typo. If not, I would demand my money back with interest and legal fees!!!
By
Matt, At
12/30/2007 10:34 PM
That won't be necessary, Matt. I did send the school a few bucks, but I think they filed the check in a manila folder and deposited some kid's attendance sheet in the bank.
By
Kevin Gleeson, At
12/31/2007 12:00 AM
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