A few years ago, I was down in the Outer Banks and decided to hit the beach. It was a nice day, around the Fourth of July, and although the OBX beaches are never really crowded, there were quite a few people enjoying the sun. Still, there was nobody within 30 to 40 feet of me that day.

So I’m sitting there with my earbuds in, shades on and a cool drink in hand, just enjoying the sun and scenery when I notice of group of eight to 10 young people running up the beach. They probably ranged in age from 18 to 28, just a good-looking group of young folks having a good time in the sun and surf. The group was attracting quite a bit of attention as they made their way towards me, and then, suddenly, one of the girls stopped, looked directly at me, pointed and screamed. I was a bit, shall we say, flummoxed.

What the hell?

At that point, the whole pack came running towards me. For a second I thought they must be former students or something, but as they drew closer I realized that was not the case. Soon I was surrounded, and one of the girls asked me this:

“Can we take your picture? We’re having a huge family reunion in a big house down the beach this week, and today we’re having a scavenger hunt. One of the things we’re supposed to get is our picture with a bald guy. Do you mind?”

Well, at least I wasn’t flummoxed anymore. Mystery solved.

Sure, kids, gather ’round!

A passing beachgoer was then asked to be the photographer as a pic was taken of me, surrounded by a gaggle of smiling young people.

Anywho, photo taken, I was high-fived, knuckle-bumped and hugged as the group meandered on down the beach. Funny moment, but otherwise not that big of a deal.

Except …

This whole episode had attracted quite a bit of attention. Immediately following, I noticed a lot of people on the beach looking over at me quizzically, some of them smiling. I gave a couple of them a little wave or a nod of the head, but then a strange thing happened.

They kept staring.

And whispering.

And staring some more.

It got so bad that I thought maybe a seagull had crapped on my head or something. This continued for about a half-hour until I noticed a couple looking at me, arguing with each other, and then looking back at me. Finally, the man shook his head, stood up and wandered sheepishly over to me.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I realize you’re trying to enjoy your day in privacy, and I saw how patient you were with those other people, but my wife insisted that I come over here and ask – who are you? My wife says you’re somebody famous. Could you please clear this up?”

Oh, good Lord. It hit me. Everyone on the beach thought I was some famous person and that group had recognized me, hence the excitement at seeing me and wanting their picture taken with me.

I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone as disappointed as that guy when I told him the truth. He just looked at me dumbly and walked away to give the devastating news to his wife, the awful truth that I was just some regular schmo on the beach. To add insult to injury, the woman walked over to a few other couples, shaking her thumb toward me as she pointed out the fraud that I obviously was, leading to disgusted headshakes all around.

And why was I feeling so damn guilty?

To this day I wish I’d been a quicker thinker and told the dude I was the son of Sean Connery and was on hiatus from some blockbuster movie being filmed in Miami or somewhere. I could probably have parlayed that into a free meal or something.

So that’s the story of how I was famous, at least for a few minutes on the beach one summer day in the Outer Banks.

Sort of.

Dave Shoemaker is a retired teacher, athletic director and basketball coach with most of his professional years spent at Paint Valley. He also served as the national basketball coach for the island country of Montserrat in the British West Indies. He lives in Southern Ohio with his best friends and companions, his dogs Sweet Lilly and Hank. He can be reached at https://shoeuntied.wordpress.com/.