Monkey Butt and Gum

It was hard to get away. I pulled on my sweatshirt and with a final tug, I fell to the floor. They left me alone, but before leaving they shouted a nickname, "Monkey Butt". I stared at the gum on my sweater. It was an off white color. I left the playground and went home. The walk was pleasant, moving my arms forward and backwards; Really feeling the motion of my sweater on my arm skin. I tugged, pulled, and picked at my sweater for comfort. I put my own chewing gum in my mouth and glared at the mushy gum that was stuck on my sweater. The sweater wasn't my favorite, but it kept me warm. I am excited to pick at it and wash it in a load of laundry, finally. I'm sitting doing my homework, when all of a sudden, the laundry was done. I don't see the piece of wet mushy gum. I put it in the dryer. I wear the sweater for my birthday, the next day, I took it off to play soccer. I couldn't score a goal, like a couple of the guys. Maybe I'd be better being the goalie. I get picked on for being average. I'm sure if I wasn't,  "Monkey Butt", I'd score a goal. This gave me the idea of a lifetime. I have to be someone else! I grabbed my sweater, went home after school, and started making a list of names. I came up with a few that really got me pumped up: "Wicked, Slider, Slow Poke, and Cool Kid." I thought being playful would make me popular. I was picked last in softball. I wrote my nickname on a nametag and hoped I'd hear it called out loud. I picked, "Slider". I struck out. I had to eat my lunch in a corner table far away from any cool conversation, by the table with kids using their cell phones. I chose, "Slow Poke", for soccer today and I heard it. My name tag didn't let me down. I chose, "Cool Kid", for Basketball practice during lunch the next day. I have heard, "Monkey Butt", but I've only been wanting to rename myself more intensely. I wore my final nametag on New Years eve, "Wicked". My parents thought it was an idea I got from school teachers, but really it was all my idea for a double shot of social acceptance. I saved the nametag and thought I'd wear it on the first day of school. The Spring semester came and my mother had a nametag for me. It was a nametag with my real name on it. I wore it proudly and thanked my mom. The kids stared at me. I stared back. It was the first day of school and I had presented myself in class. My heart was proud and I knew the jerks were enjoying my mere existence. I didn't use the nametags anymore. I thought I'd earn a new nickname with time. Time went by and I heard lots of nicknames. I gave myself the credit for some, but others were given by others. I liked deciding which ones were for me and which were for others. Sharing nicknames is a pain, but it can be done.