Booger Boy

Booger Boy

Have you ever made fun of someone behind their back for a nasty habit? Sure, we all have. Have you ever done it to their face? Maybe. Over and over and over again? Probably not. Now ask a child that same question, better yet ask your inner child. Go back to when you were in Kindergarten through Third grade, you might know what I’m talking about. Now see if you can remember what it was that was so socially unacceptable. Was it the kid who wore the same clothes 3 days in a row? Was it the type of Lunch Box that child had? Was it the kid who occasionally peed in his pants? The smelly kid? Or was it the kid that picked his nose and ate it? Either way this kid exists in every Elementary School. And in my elementary school, I was the Booger Boy.

Not only was I the Booger Boy, I was also the new kid. What a better way to be socially accepted, brand new (in the middle of the school year no less) with a disgusting nose digging habit. But what did I know, my dad was a nose digger, we do what we see and I did what I saw. So now I’m the new nose-picker-booger-slurper in class. I don’t really remember when the onslaught started, or who started it, but it came and it was relentless. On the playground, at the bus stop, in the classroom, it was ewww booger boy, ewwww he ate it! Apparently I was so enthralled with clearing my nostrils it did not matter in the moment. But later on it did take a toll on my psyche. Think about a thing that would make any kid feel awkward, I felt times ten. So anyone who would talk to me I was totally OK with. Enter the other new kid.

We had another new kid who was right off the boat from Japan, literally, not a lick of English. Surely you can make fun of someone who doesn’t speak the native language. I mean he wouldn’t understand anything you were saying. Plus, that would be one less kid making fun of me, wooohoo! So, yes the other new kid did not make fun of me. I actually helped him learn a bit of English, and no, booger and nose picker were not any of the words I taught him. I spent the rest of that year trying not to pick my nose in public. But occasionally I would relapse and a finger would find it’s way in the nostril.

Something I have always wondered, how much nostril juice do kids have? What was my aversion to tissues? Was I afraid of blowing my ears out? Did I enjoy being teased relentlessly? To most of these questions I hold no answers. What I do know is that I was (and maybe in some peoples eyes still) the Booger Boy from Second Grade. It’s not something that I ever wanted to admit, ever. Someone once asked me if I remember what I was called back then, I lied, said I have no idea what they were talking about. I was ashamed, and didn’t want to bring old boogers back to the surface.

So why talk about it now? It’s fucking funny. I have learned a long time ago that if it don’t kill you it only makes you stronger. I know it’s a bit cliché but it resonates. One thing I want everyone to take away from this story is not pity, or regret, but humor. Laugh with me, and know that I’m laughing with you.