Babe“Hey, Babe, How ya doing?”
You can always count on Hal Weymeister to call me Babe. Not Richard, not d**k, not Dickie, not Rick, not Richie, but Babe. It started in the tenth grade because I was slow developing and still had the rosy cheeks and cherry lips like the girls did back then. And now, three years later, he was still at it.
But I’m not a girl, I’m a guy. I might be gay—although he didn’t know it—but I’m not swishy gay. I’m regular gay. Whatever that is. Heck, I played sports and held my own, especially in soccer. Hal and I were on the team here at Sandia U, and I was as good as he was. Maybe even better.
Nonetheless, I’m always Babe. I got in a tussle with him a couple of years ago, but it didn’t matter. He kept it up, even with a fat lip. Regardless of what I tried; he woul
