Was It Me? Or My Teeth?
“Dealmaker? GREAT SMILE! Dealbreaker? BAD TEETH!” When I was 11, and had just moved with my parents to East Lib, Pittsburgh, this brazen stubby white boy started calling me “Beaver” because of my slightly bucked teeth and perpetual overbite, and that nickname stuck. (People who know me from then still know me as “Beav.”) By…