“So can you pick up radio signals with that thing?” The question was partially innocent, but mostly purposely cruel, meant to embarrass and, subconsciously, meant to intimidate. I remember looking at Timmy and laughing nervously. He had been the bane of my existence since kindergarten, and his teasing had never wavered. Sixth grade was just a continuation of the same.

Being the experienced loser that I was, I chose to play along with the joke rather than fight it.

“Yeah, I can!” I grabbed my ear and twisted it, as if turning a knob or twisting rabbit-ears into position. “Krrzzzzt… welcome to WGC 1-oh-3 radio, home of the hits!” Everyone started laughing, and I joined in. I was funny now, right? Timmy did that annoying little thing that bratty children do where they lean over the table and stick their face out as close to you as they can manage before ridiculing you.

“We’re laughing at you, not with you!” Looking back, I realize that the reason we grow out of sticking our faces out when we ridicule someone is because, at least with men, we realize the very real possibility of getting slapped or punched into near unconsciousness because of a poorly timed insult.

I kept grinning, of course, though I’m sure my eyes showed my insecure hurt. My left ear had always stuck out like I was part chimpanzee while my right ear was perfectly normal. Mom had always told me it was cute. My classmates thought it was interesting when we were very small. At 11 years old, it was just another reason for them to pick on me.

I kept the fake grin up until Coach Carter blew the whistle and then slunk back into the gym to another day of getting ignored by everyone except for my fellow losers. Zane, a boy with someone else’s heart in his chest, and his girlfriend, Amanda, who had developed abnormally early, and TJ, the chubby kid with a reading disorder. Those were the days, though. I had the whole future in front of me, and anything I wanted to do- except for modeling, I could grow up to do. Times were good. Problems were small. And this crazy ear has been with me through it all.

———————-

Andy put down the stack of papers and looked up at me with dull disinterest.

“You tellin’ me this is what you wanna use to kick off yer biography, Mr Mclaughlin? A rogue ear story?” He picked the rough-draft back up and flipped through a few more pages, scanning over it. “Oh great, a whole chapter on the church you was raised in. Golden!”

“Isn’t that what a biography is supposed to be?” I argued, trying to hold in my annoyance. A story of my life?

“Yeah, but most people embellish a little, keep it interesting, ya know?” He motioned his hand at the stack of papers and threw it on his desk. “This could be anybody! What’s interesting about it?”

“I’m what’s interesting about it!” I said with heated resolution. “People want to know about my life, so I wrote down what has happened in my life!”

“Ya wrote a whole chapter on yer big left ear, Jeremy.” He picked the papers up and tossed them to me. “Go find someone else ta publish yer stupid biography, I won’t do it. Good luck, don’t let the door hit ya on the way out, Radio.”

And there it was. Suddenly I was back in sixth grade, sitting at the break table with Timmy as he made faces at me and pulled his ear out to mock me. His right ear, of course, because he was a dumb kid and didn’t fully grasp the mirror effect when you’re sitting across from someone. So I did what I never had the guts to do as a child. I punched Timmy.