I was embarrassed about a lot of things - from how big everybody teased that my head was, to my big belly button that refused to disappear despite how much I tried to make it do.
But what I felt most embarrassed about growing up was my parents' occupations.
Almost every kid I knew seemed to have parents who had better occupations/professions but me.
Everyone in my class too.
Although I knew a few whose parents had shops - big shops, and the other girls looked down on them.
So, to make the judgment less harsh, I decided I was never going to talk about my parents' jobs.
And even if I had to, I knew I wouldn't be able to dress up my story even in the littlest form no matter how much I tried.
Else, I would have to make up more stories for always wearing a torn uniform to school and for constantly being sent home for not paying my school fees early.
My friends only knew my parents were poor. My other classmates too. They would never know what my parents did until one morning.
A new English teacher had come in and she began her class by asking us to introduce ourselves and tell what our parents did.
It wasn't my turn already but I began to tremble even before the first student stood to answer.
I was too terrified that I didn't listen to the answers from the students before me except for one that was followed by scattered exclamations and laughter
It was Bianca's.
She said the Nollywood actress Ngozi Nwosu was her mother.
And she was unshaken from all the laughter. She proved it in the ways the teacher asked her too.
She was really a daughter to a Hollywood actress.
There were a few other students and then it was my turn.
My lips trembled. I was scared. Ashamed. And in that fleeting moment, I wondered for the first time, what my parents were doing when the other parents pursued better occupations.
My father was/is a Carpenter and an electrician and my Mother hawked sachets of water, bottles of mineral, and buns that she usually made herself.
I said my Mother was a trader and I told what she sold.
There was silence and then murmurs. Giggles.
I wished the ground would break open and take me in.
Now everyone knew what my parents did and that embarrassed me the more.
I made sure I never discussed it with anyone even after another teacher who saw me at the motor-park hawking flogged me for allowing 'child abuse.'
It all felt better when we left the motor-park for Aladinma and my Mother began to sell in a kiosk.
Now I said my Mother had a shop - if there was ever a need to talk about it and it never felt like a lie.
And when people asked what she sold, I said it was beverages and she sold in wholesale.
I continued to lie.
I began to say my father built houses even when he could do nothing when there were no nails, hammer, planks, or electrical materials involved.
But one day, I grew up and suddenly began to understand life better.
It was my Mother I understood first.
I understood that she'd have chosen better if she had the opportunity.
The little stories from her past helped me understand. And soon, I began to understand my father too and I wondered how they felt about having the occupations they did.
They must have felt really terrible. Like losers.
Even though carpentry and electrical were things my father had passions for, if he had a choice, he would've done them in huge ways and not wearing torn clothes every time he had to go to work.
I understood that it wasn't entirely their fault and everything began to make sense.
I had the discussion with my Mother although it wasn't long.
I did with my father too and that one discussion inspired me to write about how proud I am to be a carpenter's daughter a few years ago.
I have never been ashamed of my parents' occupation since them.
Yes, my father is a carpenter and an electrician. And my mother is a trader.
Is there something you were most embarrassed about but confident of now?