What’s your most embarrassing moment?
It’s okay, you don’t really have to share but I want you to consider what made it embarrassing? What did you feel? How did you handle it?
Working with teenagers, I share my embarrassing stories — it’s sorta therapeutic. Granted, there are some stories I keep to myself but I’m of the opinion that they hear crazy all day long from other places so they might as well hear my crazy too. And how to deal with those crazy moments.
Last summer, we spent a week at camp and obviously more than one embarrassing story was told. One of my two stories was mortifying. I cringe to this day. The other, not so much. However, maybe because of their youth, they disagreed with which was my most embarrassing. So, I’ll let you decide
Story Number One:
Growing up, my parents made a choice to send me to a Christian school. Class sizes were small and I went K-8th with a handful of the same peers. However, I was shuttled into the public high school once 9th grade came.
There were more opportunities for extra-curriculars but there were also a lot more students.
Being who I am, I decided to dive in and try many new activities — like the school play.
I watched in the wings as the girl in front of me auditioned. She knocked it out of the park! I was going to do the same!
I took the stage and with all the confidence I could muster, began to perform. I felt strong, bold, and any other amazing adjective you can think of.
However, shortly after beginning, while the visions of flowers being tossed my way was still running, I was interrupted by the drama teacher.
“Try again. But without the English accent.”
I thought it was what you were supposed to do. Nope. Turns out, she actually was English.
Story Number Two:
More than a year had passed since my English accent fiasco. I had made it to my Junior year and I was enjoying high school.
Since I had taken Algebra in middle school, I was a year ahead of the normal math progression. My Junior year was Trigonometry instead of Algebra 2 and my class was mostly Seniors.
None of my friends were in the class so I made new friends. Sorta. We were more Math Class Acquaintances.
One Math Class Acquaintance was a boy I met the first week. We talked and laughed but that was it.
About the third week, we were exiting the class and heading to our next classes, which both happened to be a floor up.
As we navigated the congested stairwell, I tripped.
Up the stairs.
With my hands ready to catch me.
Each hand landed to cushion my fall.
One on each of his butt-cheeks.
With gripping so I didn’t slip sideways.
He quickly tried to explain that he had a girlfriend as I tried to explain my fall.