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If only I could blush

October 31, 2007

by KC Ifeanyi

It’s a slip down the stairs that leaves the contents of your backpack strewn across the floor. It’s missing the chair when you go to sit down, making your backside well acquainted with the unforgiving ground. It’s the highly untimely release of flatulence you pointlessly attempt to mask with an overenthusiastic cough.

Let’s face it, embarrassing moments are something we’ve all come in contact with.
Whether it’s one of the examples I’ve listed above or something far more shameful, just know you’re not blushing alone.

Taking into account my accident-prone ways and physical detriments (i.e., lack of depth perception, the inability to walk in a straight line, vision that warrants a dog and a cane, etc…), it sometimes feels as if I’m God’s little punch line.

Speaking of God, it was my ignorance of religious terminology that caused a gym full of my peers to think I was some heathen pagan, which is probably the biggest taboo there is in Ruston.

I was in seventh grade when I was coerced into attending Weekend of the Cross at Trinity United Methodist Church.

Everything was going just fine until everyone was asked to congregate in the gym for some pray-tastic fun. The man in charge asked all those in the crowd who weren’t “saved” to come up and receive the hand of God.

Now, growing up Catholic, I wasn’t familiar with such jargon, we always just said baptized. Eight out of 200-plus kids went to the front of the gym that day, I was one of the eight. Half way up to the front, I realized my mistake and could instantly feel my face grow warm from the whispers and undoubtedly shocked faces of my friends as I grudgingly accepted pamphlet upon pamphlet of Christian information.

Suffice it to say, I never attended Weekend of the Cross or that church ever again.
Even though my seventh-grade faux pas was pretty humiliating, it doesn’t hold a candle to my very first Homecoming dance.
I know this may surprise some of my readers, but I wasn’t always the super-cool guy I am today.

During the first of those formative high-school years, I summoned the courage to ask this girl to my first official dance.

Aside from the fact she hardly spoke at dinner, she kept leaving me on the dance floor to go talk to her friends. In retrospect, this was probably for the best.
While we were slowly rotating in circles in a lukewarm embrace, one of the lenses of my glasses popped out and disappeared into the dimly lit dancefloor.

I tried to play it off, I tried to be cool, but when the lights came on and everyone was exiting the room, there I was on all fours looking for my lens and the devious screw that led to its escape.

I’ve learned to accept embarrassing moments as an inevitability of life, and I encourage everyone else to do the same. I suppose there is a silver lining to my mortifying moments no one ever saw me blush. Thumbs up for being black.

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