Humiliation

I know this will come as no surprise but I’ve had more than my share of embarrassing moments over the years. Because they happen somewhat regularly, I’ve learned that the best approach (for me at least) is to try and just to own up to it and move on.

As if you needed any more evidence of what a total dork I am, here’s a couple of good examples . . .

* Growing up, I loved to go fishing with my Dad and our friends. On one particular fishing trip on the Sandy River (when I was about 7 or 8) my Dad got a bit frustrated with me talking all the time. He finally told me – in no uncertain terms – that he didn’t want to hear another word out of me for the rest of the day! I kept quiet. Even while watching as the anchor slipped off the knot in the rope of our family boat. When my Dad heard the “plop” of the anchor hitting the water he asked, “What was that?” I kept quiet of course. Until he asked again – a bit more forcefully. I answered, “It was the anchor. It slipped off the rope.” “And you sat there watching it and didn’t say anything?” my Dad asked. “You told me not to talk!” was all I could think of to say. (This was the day he wrote me out of his will.)

* When I was in grade school / middle school I picked berries every summer. I grew up in East Multnomah County – out towards Gresham. For a couple of years the place I picked berries was a long bus ride to and from home – somewhere out near Wilsonville, south of Portland. Often I was tired and would take a nap on the bus on the way home. On one particular hot, sweaty day I woke from my nap to find that, I had, um, well, had an accident! I was like 12 years old! Waaay too old to be having an “accident” and certainly not something that had been a problem before now! Luckily, I had a sweatshirt I could wrap around my waist. The guy who said, “Nice skirt, Milliron” was far easier to deal with than whatever he might have said if he had been able to see what it was covering up!

* In eighth grade, while onstage for a performance of The Sound of Music at the Portland Civic Theater, (embarrassing enough in it’s own right, I know!) a clasp on the cuff of my, um, sailor suit, got caught in my socks during a scene where the Von Trapp children were playing leap frog. When it came time to stand up all I could do was pray that the sleeve of my shirt would hold together. It did but the ripping sound of my sock – and the enormous hole it created – were enough to get the audience laughing.

* When I got married I wore a white tux. (Embarrassing enough in its own right, I know!) On the morning of the wedding I realized I needed a pair of white socks to go with it. So, my best man and I ran to Fred Meyer to see what we could find. All they had were white athletic socks. I grabbed a pair and raced back to the church. While you (thankfully) can’t tell in any of the wedding photos, apparently you could see the blue and gold stripes on the athletic socks through my pants. (This was probably the beginning of the end of my marriage.)