I have joined a fantastic group of ladies, who are involved in a weekly blog project. Every Thursday, we will dazzle you with our insight on various topics. And each week, we take turns coming up with the idea for the blog topic. Please check out their blogs as well, listed under my Blogroll section. Just click on:
Froggie (Tracey): An experiment in knitting, writing- and life
Merry Land Girl (Melissa): Tales of a suburban mom who likes to talk about pop culture, books, Judaism, family, friendship and anything else that comes to mind.
Mom Of Many (Susanna): One Mom’s perspective on life, raising kids, knitting and other unrelated topics.
This week, it was my pick for topic of the week, and I chose: What is your most embarrassing moment?
I re-live one of mine off and on over the years. Something will happen that triggers the memory, and I am right back in the moment…
1991. I was thirteen years old. I was just beginning to understand what love was. Ok, maybe I won’t go that far. More like, what a crush was. I had my first hardcore crush on a boy named Jorge. To me, he was the most beautiful person in the entire world. I even remember to this day how his caramel colored eyes looked in the sunlight. I used to imagine what it would be like to get a kiss from Jorge. I wanted him to be my first kiss.
He wanted nothing to do with me. I was a year younger than him, which in teen years equates to like, FIVE years. I was all angles and awkward, and a big tomboy. I loved to play sports and go camping and fishing. When we played basketball, he’d always pick me to be on his team, but there was no way he’s want me to be anything more than just a teammate, or a friend. And I am sure if we were older he’d think I was super cool for being into sports, but at that age, he was looking for a girl who was pretty and wore makeup, and that just wasn’t me.
I was playing basketball with him one morning, during summer break. I still held out hope that he’d see me more than just a teammate, or opponent, so I would play basketball with him, get roughed up, get knocked around just like the big boys do. This particular day it was just the two of us. I was getting over a nasty cold, but that didn’t stop me.
I am dribbling the ball, my back to Jorge. This is where it goes in slow motion for me. He’s standing behind me, anticipating my move. He’s guarding me close. The basket is a few feet away. I pick up the ball and go to pivot on my left foot, and I feel the snot starting to ooze from my nose. I was at the “serious runny nose” stage in my cold. I turn to face the basket, and Jorge.
The snot comes flying out of my nose. I can still see the shock and fear as the yellow/green gobs smack him dead in the face. I am sure the amount in reality was minuscule, but in my 13 year old brain, it was massive. It covers his mouth and nose, and a few splatters make it to his brown hairline. We both stand there, staring at each other, me clutching the basketball for dear life, he still shocked and amazed at what just happened. I can see the boogers starting to run a little on his face. Oh God, did some go into his mouth?!?
This thought propels me off the basketball court, running full force in shame to my home, where I throw myself onto my bed and have a good cry.
I can’t remember the days after that incident. I don’t know how we dealt with that moment. I only know that now, there are times where I clean up snot from my boys’ faces, and I remember my own snot covering the face of the boy I loved. And I shudder a little inside.