When I was really, really young, like around 3 or 4 years old, I wanted to be a rooster. People would say, “What do you want be when you grow up?” And I’d say, “A rooster! Cock-a-doodle-do!” Some might think that this was all some great big Freudian mess, but it really was nothing more than I liked the sign at the old Colonial Grocery Store near our house. The mascot was a stylized rooster and it was all brightly lit up at night atop the store’s façade. No great mystery. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Matt Feldspar from using it as the basis for an embarrassing verbal assault all throughout high school when, thinking it might be an endearing personal tidbit, I mistakenly revealed it during a “get to know me” exercise in Sophomore World Civ. It’s not that I’d led a sheltered life, but I’ll be damned if I knew there were that many slang terms for the male anatomy and that each one could be so effectively woven into an eager bully’s repertoire.
Young Sparky’s Future Shame