I grew up in less politically correct times, to say the least.
When I was a kid, you had to do chores, even if it meant walking a five-mile paper route when it was 10 below zero.
Your dad pretty much called it as he saw it, and I don’t believe I ended up any the worse for it.
I was an awkward lad, and believe it or not, couldn’t put on the pounds. I was cured of that problem and have tipped the scales the other way ever since. As a result, I was always a touch clumsy. I was also unnaturally tall at a young age. At 6’1” in elementary school, I towered above my classmates. I never grew another inch. At maybe 120 pounds, I was the definition of gangly.
Combined with bifocals, and you can bet I heard about every joke there was to hear when I was a kid. It’s amazing I grew up to be so darn handsome, isn’t it? (It’s my column. If I want to be handsome, I’ll be handsome.)
So, while I was tripping over every sidewalk crack, my father liked to remind me I was somewhat awkward.
If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times. “Do you spell it with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?” he would ask.
I fell for it once. “Klutz…Do you spell it with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?” From that point on, anytime I had some sort of self-inflicted injury, he’d just look at me and say, “Do you spell it with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?” There was nothing mean-spirited about it. I think he had most of the rest of the family asking me the same thing.
And it could have been worse.
My younger brother and I were opposites when it came to body style. We still are today. My mom had to shop the “husky” section at Sears for him when he was a kid. Now, he svelte, or as svelte as a McLoone gets, and I’m looking for the “Relaxed Fit” pants. It’s the new husky!
And like my father couldn’t help but take note of my clumsy nature, he also took note of my fuller-figured little brother. He became known for years as “Yamaguchi.” I don’t know how my father learned Japanese, but I guess I knew he was smarter than I was. One day he christened him as “Yamaguchi,” which he told us was Japanese for “little fat boy.”
I was an adult before I found out that “Yamaguchi” doesn’t mean “little fat boy.” He just completely made it up.
When my own son was a teen, he tripped crossing the floor in our living room.
I looked at him and asked, “Do you spell it with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?”
He just looked at me. “What?”
Never mind.