Being a teenage geek (or nerd) is sad enough but when your kids find out it hurts. I remember the day my daughter realized the truth of my past.

Arriving home from work one afternoon some 30 years ago, I discovered my then-about-16-year-old daughter reading her mother’s and my old high school yearbooks. She glared at me with that condescending look girls learn in “Womanhood 101.”

The conversation took place long ago but this is as close as I can remember it:

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Just reading the autographs in your yearbooks,” she responded with a hint of haughtiness. I sat down and loosened my tie. I knew where this was heading.

“From reading your yearbooks,” she continued, “it sounds like you were a pest.”

This came from the young lady who had told me some time earlier — after I had shared details of a few sophomoric adventures — that she was glad she didn’t know me when I was a teenager because she probably wouldn’t have liked me.

“Hand me one of those books,” I ordered. She did so with a patronizing smile.

Four years of memories rushed by as I flipped through the pages. Sure enough, from the little ditties some of my classmates had written in my yearbooks one might surmise that I had been a pest. I tried to explain some of the specifics but failed to acquit myself. She still had that “you-are-a-real-geek” look in her eye.

Come to think of it, I did do some weird things in high school. But then, didn’t most of us?

I mean, I wasn’t the only one who played “burn out” on the school bus. This is where two people — always guys — drew from a deck of cards. The person drawing the high card got to hit the other person on the arm as hard as he could. The trick was to show no mercy and to show no pain, especially if you were being slugged by an upperclassman. Several of us had a great time with this little game. A bruisingly great time.

I surely wasn’t the only guy who hung out in the boys’ room before classes. This was a gathering time — a time to act cool and to swap notes on a variety of topics. Monday mornings were especially busy as guys could brag about what a great weekend it had been. Those who hadn’t experienced such a great weekend could just stand — one foot against the wall — and contribute something intelligent like “Yeah!” or “That’s cool, man!” Or, they could simply utter that great adjective of the ’60s: “Groovy!”

If someone asked how your weekend went, you could avoid the shame of nerdhood by simply replying, “Man, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Of course, another purpose for gathering in the boys’ room was to give our hair one last bit of attention. We were still greasing in those days and a comb in the back pocket was standard equipment. Even those with flat tops and crew cuts had to be sure the butch wax was holding up.

Here’s another thing: Don’t tell me that I was the only guy who put a thumb tack on someone’s study hall seat. I know a lot of guys who did that.

It wasn’t as fun when someone did it to me. Because I was so large and fit so snugly in my seat, the whole desk came up with me when I jumped in reaction to the pain. A wonderful sport, nonetheless.

Now there is something I had absolutely nothing to do with and that’s the project where someone bored a hole in the wall between the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms. I’m no rocket scientist, but I can tell you that when you do something like that you bore the hole higher than a couple of inches off the floor. You had to lie on the locker room floor and twist your head sharply to peer through the hole and from that angle all you could see was ankles and calves. Trust me; that’s all you could see!

Fortunately, my classmates glossed over the more incriminating incidents in their yearbook writings. Unfortunately, my history of behavior as a teenager did not make a positive impression on my teenage daughter. But then, it didn’t make a positive impression on teenage girls 60 years ago either.

Alas, the shame of teenage geekhood lingers … for a long time.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.