September 11th…“TELL OF AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT IN 7TH GRADE AT YOUR HIGH SCHOOL IN KIESTER, MINNESOTA.”
With each passing year, life deals us a new “hand of cards” from a continually changing “deck”. This is another way of saying that, in my younger years of little boyhood, girls had germs and were lower than worms! Yet, as if overnight, hormones began flowing inside of me, during that school year of 1966 – 67, that were transforming how I viewed the opposite sex through what could now be described as “rose-colored glasses”. Amazingly, girls now magically became feminine sources of twitterpation and hopeful romance. I often found myself daydreaming of becoming the princely “knight in shining armor” for one lovely young lady or another.
All of those wannabe romeo daydreams came to a disastrous end one day in a class we called “Phy. Ed.” (Physical Education). We were being taught the basic rudiments of basketball in this particular class period.
My fellow students and I were divided into groups and each queue gathered in front of different basketball goals to try our hand at what was called a “Granny Shot” (which is two hands on the basketball that is then swung low, from between the legs, and up to try and make a basket). Standing behind me, in line that day, were many of the girls that I had hoped to impress with this new surge of “girl appreciation” feelings within me. Well, I impressed them alright, but not as I had planned.
For us, that year, wearing street clothes was the normal Phy. Ed. apparel and not the loose fitting gym shorts that older students wore. I wore a pair of dress slacks for the occasion that I had begun to grow out of, so they were a bit too small in the waist and behind parts. It was my turn, up at the Free Throw Line, to make that Granny Shot. With two hands on the ball, I bent wayyyyyy over and squatted to make the shot for a basket. RIIIIPPPPPP!!! went the crotch seam of my too tight dress slacks. Those slacks split wide open from the waist band belt loops all the way to the base of my zipper in the front.
The whole line of girls behind me exploded in laughter at my “exposure”. A couple gals almost fell to the floor of the gym in convulsive giggles from what had just happened to this farm boy.
I was totally mortified as I shot straight up, spun around, and grabbed for my “rear attributes” that had been split open for all the little ladies to see. Red-faced was an understatement for me as I backed my way out of that gymnasium full of girly giggling and guffawing. I headed straight for the High School office phone to make an emergency call to my home to beg my mother to PLEASE come to my rescue by bringing me a change of bluejeans or other pants to wear for the remainder of that class day. Needless to say, the office chair that I was sitting on was the only place of secure modesty for me until my mother came to school to rescue this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.
Norwegian Farmer's Son 