Wack-on The tale of a fortunate last name Wack-off
Illustration by Scott Drummond
"OK, Reilly. You're gonna post-up down low. get the feed from Johnson. John-
son...Johnson! Stop looking at your girlfriend in the stands. Johnson, you are gonna move with the pick that Craig sets for you, slicing to down the lane. And Wack-off, you crash the boards!"
Wack-off — the words of my sixth-grade basketball coach. I wanted to tell him to kiss my ass for using my last name to get a few cheap laughs from a bunch of 12-year-olds, but I couldn't muster the guts.
By Brian Wacker, Jayplay writer
By the time I was 12, I was used to the invariable bastardization of my last name. Like sands through the hour-glass, so were the days of my life filled with ridicule. I'm really not sure why this instance sticks out so vividly in my head. (Perhaps it was the added bonus of having Coach write "WACK-OFF" in bold, underlined letters on the dry-erase board he was using.) In any event, this was the point when I knew I'd had enough.
On the way home, instead of reflecting on my whole 11 minutes of total playtime, all I could think about was my last name. I cried like a Cubs fan. My parents tried to console me, but I got the feeling they didn't want to talk about the meat-smacking connotation of our last name with their 12-year-old.
I knew what masturbation was. I did it as often as any normal 12-year-old. Probably more. But I wasn't nearly at the point to where I knew how commonplace it was. I thought I had to be ashamed of my "Brian time."
Later that night, my hardly-keen and seldom-perceptive older brother, Bob, came into my room and told me he had heard about what happened at the game. He told me the horror stories of what he had been putting up with now that he was in high school. "Believe me," he said, "It does not get any easier any time soon." I had never believed someone so much in my life.
The key was, according to him, to not only accept that this was how things were going to be, but to embrace it. Was he serious? I am supposed to embrace being called Wack-job?
Then Bob said something to me that I will never forget.
"At least you're not Uncle Rich."
Like a Texan doing his multiplication tables, it took a few second for things to click. And then it was there. Dick Wacker! There is no way...But Rich is so cool...What the hell were Grandma and
Grandpath thinking?
Bob was right. How could I ever possibly
complain about being Brian Wacker. My own uncle, whom I had grown up idolizing, had it far worse than I could ever imagine. His name, when translated loosely to teenager slang, meant "Penis Masturbator."
I went to school the next week with a renewed sense of self-worth. Long gone was plain old Brian Wacker. There to stay was the self-appointed Wack-Daddy, the King of Wack. Who would have thought the most teased kid in school could
also be the most popular? My mastery of self-deprecation won me friends and acclaim.
I spent hours researching different variations of my last name. Wack-job. Wack-off. Patti-Wacker. Wack-A-Smack. Big Wack. I figured out every name that I could not give to my kids. Richard (Dick). Charles (Chuck). Patrick (Patty). Jimmy. Peter. Wang.
I didn't just gain popularity — confidence, charisma and self-assurance soon followed. I began high school, not knowing a single soul in the entire 275-person class. I left as one of the most popular guys in school, coat-tailing my last name 'til the very end. Not bad for the slow, fat kid who did theater and sang second tenor in the chorus. Did I mention that I went to a guys-only high school, where every single student only appreciated the connotation that my last name brought that much more? You can imagine how much everyone appreciated my last name.
Going to college has been no different.
Even the guys in my fraternity, all of whom I used to hold in high regard, can't get through an entire chapter meeting without taking a shot or two at my surname. I play along, beating everyone to the punchlines.
Of course, it doesn't bother me. I'm not the one going to hell.
But the first day of classes is always fun when my name gets called out in roll, shocking 25 complete strangers. Like clockwork, the professor always gives a double-take before he reads my name. Brian ... Wacker?? I grin, raise my hand and then listen for the whispers and chuckles. It always brings me back to that basketball game and all I've learned since then. I love my last name and wouldn't have it any other way.
Come to think of it, I've only had one real regret when it comes to my last name. Hell, let's fix that.
Kiss my ass, Coach.
10.7.04 Jayplay
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