Not being able to do it in kindergarten wasn't a big deal. Most of the kids in my class were still learning. By first grade, the kids around me were starting to get good. They were skilled and arrogant, strutting up to the front of the class for all to see. They were mocking me as they unloaded their gooey accomplishments on the first try and then deposited them in the trash.

The days of being able to stick my finger up my nose and still be cool were officially over. I buried a sheet of white fluff in my pocket, glanced from side to side, and then with a quick swipe brushed it against my nose, shoving it back in my pocket before anyone noticed. If I suspected that someone was looking at me, I pretended that my attempt was successful and made a fake noise, folding the fluff, walking up to the front of the room carrying the illusion of confidence, shooting my failure into the trash.

It should have been easy; I should have been one of the best. I got straight A's, and was always one of the first players picked when we played two-hand touch. I was hailed as the second best video game player in Bryant Elementary School and I even performed Lionel Ritchie's 80s banger "Dancing on the Ceiling" wearing tight, shiny, silver pants and a wife-beater at the third grade talent show. I had a rare mix of intellect and superior motor skills. Most importantly, I had a big nose.

As the years passed, my nostrils continued to expand. Before I knew it, I was in high school. High school is a difficult period for most kids. For someone who doesn't know how to blow his nose, it is excruciating. I was living a lie that couldn't last. I was stuffing shredded bits of twisted tissues up my nose. My mother was finding pieces of tissue in the washing machine. Boogers were hanging from my nose like gizzum from Derek Jeter's mouth. When my kid brother started to show me up, I knew something had to change. I was the laughing stock of my family. My father ridiculed me on a regular basis with demeaning comments like, "Hey Keith, do you know how to wipe your ass?"

I started to practice. I'd suck air into my lungs and blow, but nothing would come out. I convinced myself that I would never be able to do it. I was destined to die an old, miserable man with a nose filled with boogers. I was ready to give up, but I didn't.

One day, everything changed. My nostril had a healthy glob in it. Something came over me. I reached for a tissue and just went for it. Holding the tissue to my nose, I blew. I felt the snot travel out of my nose and pulled the tissue away. I saw something remarkable on that tissue. It was fresh. It was light green. It was beautiful.

After a seventeen-year struggle, I accomplished a skill that most six-year-olds take for granted. I couldn't celebrate, though -- at least, not in public. So, I sat in my room and blew my nose again, just to make sure.