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The Worm on the floor


Jake, aka, Baby Mojo is right on the cusp of crawling; it’s a time that we’re simultaneously looking forward to and dreading.   The Mojo camp is of three thoughts:

  1. The crawling will be supa cute
  2. The crawling baby will mean more work
  3. We need to gird our loins because parenting is about to change.

Watching Baby Mojo writhe about on the floor made me think of a time back in high school.  As with any journey, there are a couple stops, but I invite you to stay with me as it’ll take you in the way back machine as well.

The Setup

I spent the night at a friend’s house and his parents weren’t home.  Stories that have a happy ending rarely start out like that, do they?  We drank a little bit, but not enough to send anybody to the hospital or cause permanent damage.  It was a handful of idiot teenagers doing the typical things that they’ll do when not properly supervised at an overnight party.  

The next morning the story was that I had gotten too much of the sauce and flashed my naked Mojo to a couple of the girls at the party.  The girls, seemingly unimpressed with my Mojo proceeded to laugh and call me PeeWee.

Of course that entire story was false and made up by a couple of my friends.  However, as high schools operate, by 9:00 Monday, the (false) story of me flashing a couple of girls at a party was far and wide.

The Plan

High school is a petri dish for society isn’t it?  It’s like your work environment without all social rules of behavior; you can say or do anything and it can do nothing or devastate you-all depending upon how you react.

My initial reaction to this story, and the suddenly bequeathed nickname of “PeeWee” was to laugh, deny and ignore, because it in fact did not happen.  That was until one of the teachers made reference to the new nickname and then I knew something had to be done. 

The high school elections were just around the corner and I had a plan.  As PeeWee rhymed with V.P. (Vice President) I would run for Vice President of the Junior Class.  It’s amazing how simple phonetics can help create a plan isn’t it?

The Execution

I registered my name, as well as, the newly ascribed nickname of “PeeWee” on the ballot for the Junior Class Vice President of Page High School, 1985.  The campaign speeches to the class was something that were the culmination of the elecion season.  They consisted of a brief introduction by somebody of your choosing then you’d go on to speak for a couple of minutes.

The person who did my introduction speech was one of the school’s break dancers named D.C.  The schtick was for us to give each other a high five, then we’d each do the worm on the floor-with him going off stage and me going to the podium to give my speech as to why the students should vote for me PeeWee….errr, Trey.

So D.C was giving his brief introduction on stage and as he finished I approached the podium.  We gave each other a high five and then each of us fell to the floor, wormed for a couple of yards and then stood up.  He continued to walk  off stage and I walked up to the podium and gave a two-minute speech about why I was deserving of their vote.

My crap dancing notwithstanding, I was elected Vice President of the Junior Class and that nickname slipped into the abyss of the school’s (and my) memory, until I saw Baby Mojo doing The (reverse) Worm.

Being a stay at home dad has triggered these old and forgotten memories lately.  My wife has often been perplexed as to why I don’t remember anything from my childhood.  The good news for her is that I’m remembering them and have something of substance to share during dinner.  For me the good news is that video of that speech, The Worm or my Don Johnson Miami Vice jacket don’t exist.

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