August Writing Day 27
You want to know why they call me ‘Zipper’. It’s a pretty lame story, but if you insist. When I was in third grade, the zipper on my pants broke. I’m sure that’s happened to just about everyone at some point in their lives, usually when they’re in a hurry. But I thought that this was the worst thing that ever happened to me. When you’re eight, underwear is extremely hilarious, especially if you’re a boy, and you’d rather die than have anyone see your skivvies. The teacher called my Mom, but she wasn’t home. Of course not; I’m going to die of embarrassment and Mom’s out having her hair done or something. Anyway, the teacher found a safety pin and fastened me up as well as she could. And that was even worse! Having your teacher pinning your pants is more terrible than breaking your zipper in the first place. The worst part was I knew I wouldn’t die of embarrassment! Of course, the loudest, most obnoxious kid in the class spotted my pin and broken zipper right away. I think kids like that have some kind of radar that lets them know when a teasing opportunity arises. So naturally he starts razzing me about it, saying the old ‘I see London, I see France’ thing and just making himself almost sick laughing. And all his cronies have to join in. It was a terrible day! I think it lasted about nine years. Finally, I go home and everything’s good again. Until I come to school the next day. And damned if that big oaf doesn’t start calling me Zipper and asking if I’ve figured out how to work one yet. Idiot! For some reason, the name stuck like flypaper and I couldn’t have gotten rid of it if I tried. And I did try. But it wasn’t any use. I went through that whole year being called Zipper and I guess I just got used to it. All through elementary school and junior high, I was called Zipper. Oh, it’d be Zippo, or Zip-man, but it was still basically Zipper. In high school, I ran track and was pretty good at it, so at least now the name made more sense. Even my Dad called me Zipper after I came in second in the state in the hurdles. Thanks Dad. So I’ve been Zipper since I was eight years old, and it’ll probably be carved on my tombstone.