Sometimes my name is still Woody

I've always been in slight awe of the fearlessness with which I approach life. I recall things I've done or said with a reverent disbelief. Not like drunken night before kind of fearlessness, but genuine risk taking. Don't get me wrong, it's bitten me too. Actually it works out probably less than it doesn't, and this story is a prime example of that.

Where did I get the kahunas to do that?! I would never do that now.

You must have related moments, where afterward you kinda just shake your head at yourself? This is one of my favorites.

I was seven years old. My best friend was Jimmy, and it was summer time 1977. (Yah, yah, you did the math, bastards.)

We moved a lot in those days and we had just moved onto Grenfell Street. This new address promised a good school, new friends, and a summer full of sunny crayfish catching at the creek. I had, however, learned at my old address that there were rules for play. Girls got to play card games, have lemonade stands, dress dolls up and if they were lucky, got to steal some make-up from their mothers and adorn themselves with it.

Oh Geez! Really?! Those things are all boring and stupid.

So I came to the only conclusion that seemed possible. I would have to be a boy this time. And there it was. The best plan of all time. I would simply tell all the kids that I was a boy and then I'll be able to do all of the super fun boy things. My favorite of which was dirt bomb throwing. Ah, nothing like a good dirt bomb fight, and no respectable girl would've been caught throwing dirt bombs. Besides, how well would she do when we all know that girls throw like girls?

And so I had my problems solved. My favorite band, when I was seven, was The Bay City Rollers. Yep.

What yours too? Shut up.

And my favorite member of my favorite band was Stuart 'Woody' Wood. So what do you think happened?

Hi.

Hi.

What's your name?

Mark. What's your name?

Woody.

And there it was. From then on the kids called me Woody. If anyone made fun of it, I didn't notice, nor would I have cared. I got to jump off the bridge into the creek with the boys. I got to go crayfish catching. I got to ride a cardboard toboggan down the biggest grass hill. I got to play with Hotrod cars. I got to drum in a band. I got to tease girls and pull their hair, and push over their lemonade stands when we were bored.

It was freaking fabulous!!

And then, of course, there had to be a snafu. My mom. How dare she call me for lunch or dinner or to come in at night by my real name.

Chelle! Dinner!! Richelle?

How come your mom yells Richelle?

I don't know. Does she?

Yah, like everyday.

I don't know. But I better go see what she wants.

Bye Woody

And that's all that was needed. The seed was planted and they were on to me. I had spent almost a whole month in playland bliss, but it was all coming down around me now. I could tell the kids were distrustful. I could see and hear them whispering and looking at me. The jig was up and I knew it, but what the hell do I do about it? Ride it til you can't.

And then came the fateful day. The kids had all been talking. Boys and girls. Crap. They had secretly planned to confront me. I walked in pretty blind, but not surprised.

Woody we know you're a girl.

No I'm not. Ewwww. Girls are gross.

We know that you're a girl. Cindy's mom asked your mom, and she said you were a girl.

She's lying. She does that.

You're lying. And your name's not even Woody. Who picks Woody for a name if they had the choice of any other name?

Shut up.

And I give him a shove

The next thing I know I'm running for my life. I have 7yr old legs, but some of the other kids had 9yr old legs, so I had to get home fast. I ran for what seemed like my life, and I made it home. I couldn't believe it. I was safe! I got to the door, I could hear the herd of kids behind me, I turned the door handle. LOCKED!!!

Uh-oh, Uh-oh

I keep running, unable to get to the spare key and back to the door on time. I run and I run, but they're catching up, and they don't look tired. I run behind a building and find the worst, barest, smallest stupid pine tree to not even attempt to hide myself in. It must've looked ridiculous; me crouched, fully visible behind this 'tree'.

They'll run right past.

But they didn't run right past. They stopped dead in front of me. Enraged.

We know you're a girl!!

No I'm not!

Yes you are.

No I'm not.

And then they said something I really did not anticipate.

Pull down your pants then.

No way.

Pull down your pants or you are a girl.

Busted.

Okay, you're right.

Say it.

No.

Say it!

I'm a stupid girl.

and there it is.

Although, the outcome only further ostracized me and left me with no friends and a huge desire to move again, there are days now, as an adult, when I wish I could simply call myself Woody or Mike or Dean and have more fun and get more respect. Hence the title of this piece, "Sometimes my name is still Woody"