by Peter B. Perkins
A husky child, that was me. Ample. Hefty. Beefy.
In that by-gone time, children were a non-descript, average-size. On the other hand, I was conspicuous, distinct. My separation from the preponderance of my classmates — indelible, clear-as-a-bell, plain as white bread, obvious as a raisin in oatmeal — was stitched into the waistband of my dungarees. There lived the word that defined so much of my childhood: “Husky.”
Trundled by mom through the clothing aisles at Sears, past the racks of “small,” through “medium,” and around “large” to the destination of “Husky.”
I don’t know if they have a “Husky” aisle today at Sears or anywhere else. Back then, Husky was about as appealing for a kid to be as a Communist. A dose of castor oil, lima beans for dinner, or, God forbid, fruitcake were more desirable!
Being Husky made me cannon fodder for the ridiculers, the deriders, the humiliators, the mockers, and the teasers. At the bus stop, on the playground, in the classroom, “Husky” was a constant challenge.
How could such a tiny, inconspicuous clothing label printed in Hong Kong wield such power over my life? I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t just the “Husky” label. Maybe it was the pejorative cocktail brewed with Husky — an attitude, and a name of Peter Perkins — a name ripe for rhyme and puns. Porky Pig. Peter Potamus. Pee Pee.
Looking back, I see I didn’t handle it well. No water rolled off this duck’s back. No porcine other cheek was turned. No let ’em eat cake. No taking my ball and going home.
No, I met the challenge with fists, chairs, and rocks. I launched preemptive strikes. I was a commando of self-preservation, living alone in the Alamo. Eventually overrun, my defenses were breached.
I was hemmed in by a mainstream culture that did not acknowledge my challenges, my emotional fragility. I realize now that I fueled the fire of the antagonists, pumped the billows of the flamers, danced around waving a huge banner for all to see that said, “Kick me! Give me your problems. I am not worthy. One-stop shopping for all of your scapegoat needs.” This was an exhausting way to grow up.
I am somewhat better now, favoring “one-size-fits-all.” Will I ever be “Husky” again? Only if I’m pulling a sled.
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Peter Perkins is a writer, educator, chef, geologist, and entrepreneur. Keenly aware of issues involving mental health, he currently works with men in 12-Step recovery, Peer-to-Peer Empowerment, and community outreach. Peter is compiling a book of autobiographical essays documenting the struggle, pain and success in his life. |
