fergie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- don't mess with fergie Don't Mess With Fergie Ferguson - my family name, has a rather common nickname "fergie" made popular way before the red head started getting press. When I was a child, I thought my family had made the slang version of our last name popular, as though the term was created to refer to US. People in town would call �hey fergie� across the parking lot at the supermarket to my dad, asking how "little fergie" was when they saw me, or refer to "ol� fergie" if they were talking about my grandpa. I guess he used to smack some people up in his day, because I remember, even as a child, thinking how often people would act especially nice because they were intimidated. My father took to ol� fergie�s shoes rather well. "If you don�t say hi to big fergie, he�ll kick your ass!" At least that�s what I used to imagine people saying as we would leave the store or park. Like any small town, our family had a history there, and you didn�t mess with a Ferguson. "For g-d sake, they�re Irish! They�ll get piss drunk and beat the hell out of ya!" It was my own fantasy version of living in a Mafia family. My father made a concentrated effort to ensure his sons were going to be able to keep up the family name, and I started boxing when I was five. It came in very handy at school, where teachers clearly knew my family lineage and referred to it often. "Like father like son," they would say as they whisked me off the to principal. I found being the kid of a tough guy wasn�t always an advantage. If my dad beat up your dad, then your dad thinks my dad is an asshole, and all you know is that your dad doesn�t like mine, so maybe you should kick my ass. It all makes sense in some backwoods gerbil brained red neck way (remember I was raised in the bible belt). After pushing someone off a slide and punching a girl in the face the day after she stepped on my hand (I didn�t want her to see it coming), it seemed as though everyone was pretty cool with me. First grade got a little rough though. In fourth grade, I got into my first and only all out fight-after-school-behind-the-insertplacehere. He knocked out a loose tooth of mine, which I swallowed. The children of the corn like crowd that had gathered saw me spit blood, which is generally acknowledged as a sign of loosing. However, since the fight was broken up by a local resident, the winner was determined the next day when his hand was in a cast (wrist lock) and there was a huge purple mark on the side of his face, while I was fine except for the tooth, which needed to come out anyway. Though it was a defining moment in my childhood, the irony came years later when I saw my former opponent at a gay bar, where he had entered into a strip contest and stood on stage in his boxers while drag queens poured water in his crotch. I went home with his boyfriend. Now, much later in time, our family has moved on and ol� fergie is not just my grandpa, but a great grandpa, making my dad a grandfather, and I�m a big fag. We could still take you. - ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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