Nasty Boy

Photo by Cotton Bro

There was a nasty boy who lived in a white double-wide on the east side of Happy Acres Trailer Park. He was obsessed with the radio song “Chick-A-Boom” and wanted to teach me the lyrics so I could sing along.

Nasty Boy was a fifth-grader and two years older than me. He had flushed red cheeks, a brown crew cut, and wore thick black-rimmed glasses. His ochre-colored pinstripe pants were cinched with a belt, and he smelled like a dirty swim towel.

Happy Acres had a playground and a swimming pool behind my trailer row. When there was no one to play with, I waited at the swings for someone, anyone to show up.

One day, Nasty Boy found me swinging and asked if I wanted to be friends. I said sure, only because there was no one else to play with. It didn’t take long to learn the lyrics to “Chick-A-Boom.” The song was confusing yet catchy. Soon, Nasty Boy and I met every day after school at the swings. He sat in the swing next to me, and we swung and swung, belting out sexy lyrics about a chick in a black bikini until the final chorus, when we swung so high we almost wrapped ourselves around the top bar.

Nasty Boy truly liked singing that song, but I liked swinging better.

One day, a teenage boy from Happy Acres told me Nasty Boy was a pervert and that I was singing a nasty song, and everyone in Happy Acres knew about it. 

When I asked Mom if she’ knew about it, she said it was news to her. 

The next time Nasty Boy showed up at the playground, all excited to swing and sing our song, I grabbed his swing and told him to scram, saying I never wanted to see his ugly face again. 

Nasty Boy moved to Taft, but I could never get his song out of my head.