Many years ago a handsome, rugged, well muscled young man from Australia met a beautiful, feminine yet outdoorsy young woman, the youngest daughter of a prominent farming family. Rapidly they fell in love and were married. With dreams of fame and fortune sparkling in their eyes they ran off to New York City; he to become a playwright, her to become a world famous Broadway star.
But, as is true with so many dreams of success in New York City, they found themselves living in a run down three-flat in Brooklyn. He an English teacher, her a waitress at a greasy spoon. Their love for each other, though, would not be extinguished, and they enjoyed each other’s physical company as much as they enjoyed each other’s mental company. Which, of course, led to the beautiful young woman getting pregnant, with twins.
After much debate, and the doctor declaring the twins to both be boys, the young couple, now slightly less happy than when they had met, decided to name their bundles of joy (and endless need and want) Yuri and Nate. For middle names they decided to show honor to where they had come from. So, they chose Oz and Hoe. Oz to commemorate the father’s homeland of Australia, and Hoe to commemorate the mother’s roots in farming.
As the glorious day of birth approached the couple decided to have birth announcements printed up to be ready the moment their sons came into the world. They read as follows:
Join us for a light brunch and non-alcoholic cocktails as we celebrate the wonderful birth of our twin sons:
Yuri & Nate
Oz Hoe
Oz Hoe
It is with much love and tenderness that present to you, our children.
The snickers and suppressed guffaws weren’t heard by the couple, though, for everyone they invited were too polite and got the laughter out of their systems long before the twin’s unveiling.
The children grew, and the couple, now a little better off than before, decided to move outside the city to a small town with decent schools and air that better approached EPA standards for clean. Happy little boys, they were always together, side-by-side, nearly inseparable. And, everyday after school their mother’s sweet voice would ring out amongst the neat little houses, “Yuri Nate, time to come in for dinner!” With giggles and laughter and peels of joy, the children would run in to enjoy their fish sticks, spaghetti, or macaroni and cheese.
Of course, these children did what all children do, grow up. One day they found themselves in Middle School with a bunch of kids from neighboring towns. The teasing started immediately. Taunts, ridicule, derision flew at them, together, separate, it didn’t matter. They become known as the “Urinate Twins” and the other children began bringing spray guns to school and would hose them down at crotch level. Day after day Yuri and Nate would be tormented, but their parents believed that it would help build character and kept them in that school.
In High School it got even worse, their middle names became known. Now, it wasn’t just the spray guns (no one seemed to be able to give up that little gag), but anything brown was now flung at their backs, preferably at butt level.
One day a young, new and fresh teacher couldn’t help himself, his curiosity was too great. He held Yuri and Nate after class one warm, sunny, fresh smelling Spring day and asked them, “Do your parents hate you?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Yuri said.
“Well, think about all the taunting you’ve received … because of your names …” the teacher said, waiting for one or the other to explain something, even if it were as simple as their parents being complete morons. Instead, the twins looked at each other, shrugged, and went home, chocolate stains prominently displayed on their backsides.
The next day the teacher tried again, but got nowhere with the two children. Having recently outgrown such vulgarity himself, he left the two alone and never mentioned the enormous oddity of their names again, to anyone, except his drinking buddies. That always drew a good round of laughter and a good half hour of conversation down at his favorite watering hole.
The boys, always so close, never fully developed a real appreciation of the opposite sex until they went off to college. Some said they were late bloomers, some said their parents must have been prescient with their middle names. But, the idea of incestuous gay sex between them was too much for any to stomach, so that line of thought quickly remained in the realm of personal thought and quiet whispers over coffee at home.
Once at University, though, the boys’ hormones kicked in, and they were running after girls left and right. Of course, their names soon became known campus wide, and instead of getting the blooming young women to speak to them, they only encountered laughter and poorly covered giggles. It was at that point that the boys, now maturing young men more capable of self reflection, realized the fundamental flaw in their naming.
The conversations that ensued with their parents quickly grew to heated arguments. Holidays were spent locked in their dorm room, not at home. Their parents soon realized, that yes, they did secretly hate their children. If hadn’t been for them they would have realized their dreams of fame and fortune. Instead, one was a High School English teacher and the other was a restaurant manager. No glamour, definitely no fortune, and aside from their small circle of ten friends, no fame.
The children, realizing they would forever be Yuri Nate Oz Hoe found themselves a good psychiatrist who was more than happy to prescribe pharmaceutical treatment options. Thoroughly numbed by Prozac and its friends, Yuri and Nate lived a foggy, numbed existence where their troubles where always a distant problem seen through a thick haze and their libidos ceased to be an issue. Living together in complete bachelorhood, they decided that between the drugs and their unfortunate naming they would never get married or have children of their own. So, they joined the Catholic Church and were considered some of the best priests the Vatican had ever known.
No comments:
Post a Comment