Donk
How is that for a shitty nickname
Nicknames are funny things. If given by family member early as a kid, most people have no problem living with them for their lifetime. If a nickname is given later, like in grade school for example; the dislike rises the later it is given.
I was anointed Donk around the fifth grade. A single time writing my real name Don K on the white board resulted in DonK: and a nickname was born. I hated it from day one. From one classroom the name spread across the grade in a week, and the entire school in a month. Game over, as my two older brothers latched on it and soon they used it mercilessly at home simply to show their dominance and even more at any family events, further spreading my misery. Even now at the ripe old age of 21, in my junior year in college, a starting tight end on a Dll program, Donk still follows me around like a black cloud. My brothers saw to it that my nickname was attached to me forever.
I'm sort of the gentle giant, and football is probably not the best for my 6'10" frame. In fact, I never thought about playing at all during my first half of high school. I was tall, thin as a rail, played tennis pretty well, and ran like the wind. Plain and simple, if I could get three steps, I could be at full steam and with legs like a giraffe my top speed was way faster than most anyone. Football came by accident in the form of protecting my girlfriend at the time.
We were both Sophomores, her as an on field sports-med assistant (meaning she held all the gauze, scissors and braces that the real doctor used when anyone got hurt). I on the other hand volunteered as part of the chain gang (first down marker). The particular accident happened as my middle brother was running with the ball heading towards myself and my girlfriend. She and I were talking, eyes on the field, when I figured out that she or I were about to get taken out: hard.
I heard that the game film looped over and over, my brother running full steam, and me preparing for impact: putting a padless shoulder down, right hand shoving my girlfriend behind me, and boom. No broken bones, no concussion, nothing. Yes, I ended a few feet behind where I was, but impact taken, tackled, and no first down. I dusted myself off, made sure my girl was good, and thought nothing of it. The coach railed my brother that he couldn't even break a stick (me).
The following season, the coached pleaded that I try out. Given that my brothers thought I would fail, quit, or just get shattered in the process, I took it on as a personal challenge. What started as a way to get back at my a-hole brothers ended up with me having the school records for catches, touchdowns, points, etc.
Now five years later I'm a proverbial mountain of a man. 265 pounds, 6% body fat, crazy fast, insanely strong, but deep inside just happier on a ski slope or mountain top, not on the playing field. Football is work (it pays for my education, my dorm, food, etc.). I'll never play in the NFL, hence my 3.8 GPA, an MBA next, and a career in some kind of high value (hence high commissions) sales.
That of course being the short term goal. Long term, I'll save every penny I can and get a nice cabin on a lake, ski patrol in winter, fish, hunt, and just enjoy the mountains all year. And hopefully share that life with a woman who shares my love for all things outdoors.
My love of the mountains comes from my family, rather an annual reunion of it. My extended family is quite simply, fucking huge. You would think we were Catholics. My dad is the oldest of six brothers: my mom, one of seven. Family picnics require reserving entire city parks, and our annual 'reunion' is a two week 'come as you can' event that takes over a mid-sized campground in the Sierras early each Spring. Decades ago the family started with a few campsites, and as the facilities grew from Spartan to nearly glamping, so to our annual pilgrimage grew. Now we simply book every cabin.
The campground store sits at the entrance to the site and is always stocked with our family favorites, and the staff know most, if not all of our names, who our parents were, and who was related to who, and how. Behind the store a large mess hall, pool with hot tubs, and various sports courts. Beyond that all the campsites, now with one, two and some three bedroom cabins. Finally, towards the end of the sprawling property miles of forest and a lake fed by the coldest spring water I have ever felt. The canyon walls rise gently but increase in steepness to the point where only the most foolish would attempt a climb. I've mapped out my dream cabin hundreds of times in my head. Perched on three large boulders, A two-platform deck to a boat dock, views over the lake and down the canyon. Perfect
As long as I can remember, the Sierras have always been my favorite place on this planet. Put me anywhere from Lake Tahoe to Kings Canyon, and I am good to go. Any season, and provided I've got the right clothes, I can live long enough to be rescued if needed or thrive if I have planned the trip. So, I never miss these two weeks - once even getting out of the hospital after surgery three days earlier than planned. Yup, this is my little slice of heaven.
The single downside to these couple weeks is of course my nickname. I'm huge, everyone wants to talk to me, and I hear Donk about a gazillion times a day. The three exceptions to the "I want to kill you when you say that word" is of course my parents, my grandparents, and my cousin Annie.
My parents are the salt of my earth, and they could call me crap and it would be all right. They love me, they truly know me, and they use the nickname very sparingly. Usually just to get my attention if I'm deeply distracted. Pretty much the same with the grandparents.
That of course brings us to the single other person on this planet who can call me any filthy name and I'd be good. Annie
What can I say, we are as opposite as possible, yet I love her with all my soul. The anti-matter to my matter: Annie is petite, tiny, a doll. Maybe 5'3" and 110 pounds of just the right amount of curves, flats, and peaks to even make the most conservative girl want to steal her away for a thousand years. Last year my mother even said out loud that she would give my dad a once in a lifetime, free pass if she could have Annie for a night. That might have been a bit of a night's booze and some Mendocino smoke talking, but the attraction is there, and the family lets her know from time to time with some light hearted teasing.
Topping the most insane body known to man is a brain and personality that is beyond description. Brilliant (perfect SATs: she took it twice because they thought she cheated), gregarious, caring, sweet, and a wickedly dirty sense of humor that seems to constantly be directed at yours truly. On one side, her attention is an honor fit for a king, the downside is that she teases me mercilessly, both intellectually and physically with flashes of her tits, ass and on two occasions when we were teens, her shaved pussy.
Oh, and we argue a bit... we're talking Annie in a full tizzy-fit, raging, 'if you weren't family, the body would not be found' fights.
I would not be surprised if Annie truly has two personalities. One hour she is telling me about some new on campus charity she is doing data analysis for, and an hour later I'm on the receiving end of a tirade over my eating non-sustainable, non-organic, non-GMO eggs. "Holly fucking crap Annie, I'm here for the reunion: take it up with the parents why don't you" being my exit strategy on fight number one, and it is on our first morning.
Fuck this might be a long two weeks going through my head as I left the mess hall.
Our arguments are kind of betting ritual for the family. Each year bets are taken and the person who guesses the closest to the day and time of our first loud argument wins. This has been going on at least since Annie and I were nine or ten, maybe earlier. Back then me getting a black eye, a scratch, or once, a rock to my head wasn't all that unusual. We usually get four or five days in before an eruption: one day? Crap
Given the early blow out with Annie, I needed to get as far away as I could. Packing a couple books, I needed to read, some water, food, and my portable chair, I headed out. Down the trail I marched, towards the end of the canyon and didn't stop until I was near the other side of the lake. Climbing the boulders, finally reaching my destination, I was in the middle of where my great room would be. I popped out my hiking chair (made of carbon fiber, I am still amazed this thing holds me) and dove into my books for a long day of tranquility.
Weather in the Sierras this time of year is changeable at its best. A bright spring morning can turn into a hot afternoon, followed by snow at night. Today we got a bright morning, a hot afternoon, and then a mother of a lightning storm that just seemed to pounce out of nowhere. Not a cloud in the sky and then a bolt out of the blue, loud enough to feel less than a quarter mile away, a deafening crack. Shit, backdoor front!
One of the first things you learn out here is to get the hell off of the granite if you can during these storms. So, I stuffed my books into my pack and took off down the trail as fast as I could. By the time I got back to the campground I was soaked to the bone, cold as fuck, and pissed off to no end, as about half way back I remembered that I left my chair out on the rock.
"Fucking storm, god-damned chair, Annie is such a bitch" I thought I was thinking to myself in the shower.
"So you want to fuck me in a storm, Donk? Isn't that a bit out character for you?" Annie's voice rose over shower and the storm whipping outside.
"What the fuck Annie! Get out!" Was my only response.
"Sure thing big boy. Dining hall is closed, most people are heading to town for dinner. Want me to wait so you can ride me?"
"No - I'm staying. Going to drink a few too many and kiss this day good riddance in a drunken stupor."
"Boring"
And she was gone - thank you very much!
Busting out our old camp stove I "roughed it" with a dinner of organic pork chops and grilled veggies, some local wine, and later while sitting by the fireplace a couple - ok four of my fingers of our best scotch. My parents raised us with a great appreciation for quality and an occasional nod to quantity.
The last thought of the evening being did I hear Annie say ride with me? Or ride me? Fucking teasing me again.
The storm beat us up good overnight. The winds sent all sorts of gear flying, a few cabins were damaged and hail beat the hell out of more than a few of the family cars and SUVs. All in all, day one and night sucked.
My plan for day was simple, help clean up the debris, patch any roofs that were within my skills to repair, and hopefully get my chair before tonight's cookout.
Annie was by my side most of the day and surprisingly quite nice. No snippy comments, no long rants, and no teasing. She seemed to be focused and down to the work to be done. Any major repairs would have to wait for contractors, and with a few cabins out of commission sleeping arrangements were bound to change. By four in the afternoon the place was as good as it would get and I started thinking about the quickest way to skip out on Annie, and high tail my way out to the head of the canyon.
