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That awkward space between reality and reality television.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
It followed me to high school, it implausibly followed me to college, and now, it appears that against all odds, it has followed me into the working world. I can remember clearly the day that the kid in my seventh grade class looked at me and with a big smile turned to his equally redneck friend and said, "look, it's possum!" No explanation, it just was.
The pair of hillbillies proceeded to refer to me as possum for the remainder of the school year. It wasn't until a friend of mine heard them the following year that the snowball effect began. Suddenly, everyone in school was calling me possum, and I wasn't quite sure what to think, and the more I protested, the more amusing my classmates found it. The name possum took on a life of it's own and possum jokes were the hottest thing in 8th grade. I had to learn to ignore them.
My elementary school friends continued to refer to me as possum as we moved on to 9th grade. The transition to high school was a little overwhelming for me, but I quickly found that a kid named possum was a lot more memorable than "Brian," especially during the height of my shyness. So, all these cool kids that I was meeting were saying, "hey, possum!" as I passed in the hall, and though I knew that essentially they were mocking me, at least they knew who I was. Slowly, through my four years in high school, possum became less of a joke and more of a proper nickname. My school was big on nicknames. We voted a guy named Chainsaw to be our Homecoming King, and there was a kid in my class named Weedge. I never knew his real name until we were seniors. By twelfth grade, however, only a close circle of friends were calling me Possum, and it had been something that I had made my own. I found it hard to distinguish whether different people called me Possum or Brian. I heard both as being my name.
While I had even caught myself referring to myself as Possum from time to time, I was not necessarily saddened by the thought of leaving the name behind in Sylva as I ventured off to meet a whole new world of people in college. I had a friend threaten to call everyone in Chapel Hill to assure that the monicker would follow me onward, but his services weren't needed. It didn't even take a week for me to unleash the Possum on Carolina. During the course of an icebreaker with a group of people that would become part of my circle of friends the question was posed, "did you have any nickname in high school." I figured it would be harmless to mention the name, but before I knew it, everyone in Intervarsity knew about the kid called Possum. However, this time I made it my own and embraced the title.
To this day, many of my friends still call me Possum, but surely, I thought, this would not infiltrate the business world. Going by Possum just didn't sound professional to me, and I saw no reason why anyone that I worked with needed to know. That is until this afternoon when one of my student staff members announces to the office that her roommate knows me and that she said that there was a "little name" that people called me. Thanks, Ellen!
So all the students got a good laugh. Fortunately none of my colleagues were there, so I still hold on to hope that this won't spread any higher. Somehow I can't picture my bosses calling me Possum.
Well, there you have it. I've been asked so many times why the name Possum. This is the full story, or at least my part of it, cloaked in mystery much like the man himself. I've been hit by a car in a parking lot, hung upside down in a tree, and rooted around in a dumpster, so maybe there really is a little possum in me.
The pair of hillbillies proceeded to refer to me as possum for the remainder of the school year. It wasn't until a friend of mine heard them the following year that the snowball effect began. Suddenly, everyone in school was calling me possum, and I wasn't quite sure what to think, and the more I protested, the more amusing my classmates found it. The name possum took on a life of it's own and possum jokes were the hottest thing in 8th grade. I had to learn to ignore them.
My elementary school friends continued to refer to me as possum as we moved on to 9th grade. The transition to high school was a little overwhelming for me, but I quickly found that a kid named possum was a lot more memorable than "Brian," especially during the height of my shyness. So, all these cool kids that I was meeting were saying, "hey, possum!" as I passed in the hall, and though I knew that essentially they were mocking me, at least they knew who I was. Slowly, through my four years in high school, possum became less of a joke and more of a proper nickname. My school was big on nicknames. We voted a guy named Chainsaw to be our Homecoming King, and there was a kid in my class named Weedge. I never knew his real name until we were seniors. By twelfth grade, however, only a close circle of friends were calling me Possum, and it had been something that I had made my own. I found it hard to distinguish whether different people called me Possum or Brian. I heard both as being my name.
While I had even caught myself referring to myself as Possum from time to time, I was not necessarily saddened by the thought of leaving the name behind in Sylva as I ventured off to meet a whole new world of people in college. I had a friend threaten to call everyone in Chapel Hill to assure that the monicker would follow me onward, but his services weren't needed. It didn't even take a week for me to unleash the Possum on Carolina. During the course of an icebreaker with a group of people that would become part of my circle of friends the question was posed, "did you have any nickname in high school." I figured it would be harmless to mention the name, but before I knew it, everyone in Intervarsity knew about the kid called Possum. However, this time I made it my own and embraced the title.
To this day, many of my friends still call me Possum, but surely, I thought, this would not infiltrate the business world. Going by Possum just didn't sound professional to me, and I saw no reason why anyone that I worked with needed to know. That is until this afternoon when one of my student staff members announces to the office that her roommate knows me and that she said that there was a "little name" that people called me. Thanks, Ellen!
So all the students got a good laugh. Fortunately none of my colleagues were there, so I still hold on to hope that this won't spread any higher. Somehow I can't picture my bosses calling me Possum.
Well, there you have it. I've been asked so many times why the name Possum. This is the full story, or at least my part of it, cloaked in mystery much like the man himself. I've been hit by a car in a parking lot, hung upside down in a tree, and rooted around in a dumpster, so maybe there really is a little possum in me.
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