Massive Melon

Sometimes, an off-hand comment opens old wounds. Mention "Rosebud" to Citizen Kane or "Gigli" to Ben Affleck and their eyes will likely fill with tears.

In today's newspaper gossip column, Lucy in Easton asks for confirmation that Hilary Duff, her girlhood idol from "Lizzie McGuire" is married. "She's way too young to have a husband," writes Lucy. Columnist Pinky replies that Hilary has, in fact, marched down the aisle with hockey player Mike Comrie and states, "(Comrie) is NOT CUTE. His head is gigantic, and I mean that literally. Maybe it looks smaller in person. Let's hope."

Pinky's comment opened a personal wound that I had long repressed. Sitting atop my puny shoulders is what Mike Myers referred to as a "massive melon", my size 7-5/8 head. When all the cool guys were wearing their hats backwards, I couldn't. That plastic adjustable strip had to hang free for the hat to fit me at all. It looked like a cuckoo was about to spring from it every hour on the hour. When we would go to the batting cage, I was the guy with the helmet side flaps digging into my temples and causing occasional blackouts. Back when I had a full head of hair, the barber would ice down his clippers for fear they would overheat.

Humiliating as they were, none of the above were my life-long traumatic "Rosebud" moment. When I was five years old, a church block party featured a flat where kids could stick their heads through a hole and be photographed as Hopalong Cassidy astride his horse Topper. Like every other kid in 1953, I was an immense Hopalong fan. It was a long wait in line and when my chance to become "Hoppy" finally came, I couldn't fit my head through the hole. I became "Big Head Ed", the pariah of the 1st grade at James Monroe School.

It's been 57 years, but thanks a lot for bringing that back up again, Pinky. I will now bury my massive melon in a pillow and sob hysterically.