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MR. SMITH AND THE SILLY NAMES

I was sitting in the classroom of Mr. Smith.

It was the first day of the second semester. The day I hated most. Being prompt, as usual, I was the first one in class. I was worried. I just knew that Mr. Smith would walk in any minute and utter the words I least wanted to hear.

He would ask the class to stand and state their names. This was my biggest fear in life. Someday, I knew that someone would have to find out my REAL name. I've always felt it was a sin to call your children by a silly name, and my parents really chose a winner, or should I say a loser? I was sure glad when all my friends started calling me "Buck" to hide my true identity.

By now the other kids were filing into the room and it was beginning to look like any other class. There was the red-headed girl, the brainy kid with the taped glasses, the bully in the artificial leather jacket with plaid lining. It was classic typical stereotype; the type of classes you read about.

Following close behind was Mr. Smith. He was a big fat teacher with a funny little goatee-type beard. His first sentence was the one I had dreaded.

"Hello class, I'm Mr. Smith. I'd like you all to stand up and tell us your names."

To my amazement, he didn't pick me first. Usually I have that kind of luck. Instead, he asked a little girl two seats across from me. She stood up reluctantly and shyly muttered her name: "My name is Ellie... Phant."

The class roared out loud and the girl sat down, embarrassed and as red as a fire engine. Next in line to expose himself was a little boy who sat in the seat behind me.

"I'm Phil Harmonic" he stated, expecting the customary burst of laughter from the class. Naturally, his expectations were overly satisfied as once again the class went out of control. Mr. Smith himself was having a difficult time holding back his smiles. Eventually, even I found it hard not to laugh. I realized that I was no longer different. I was now just one of the crowd, so I raised my arm and proudly showed off my name next.