Nicknames

My mom loved unusual names.  I think it was because she wanted exceptional children. She probably knew that we weren't going to be anything extraordinary, but at least our names could be. Mom and dad didn't really agree on what to name the children. Older brother was named after my dad, and he was okay with that, but my name, and my little brothers name kind of came out of left field. Mom loved them because they were so unique.  

In his quiet way dad protested, especially with my name. He called me by my middle name for quite a while. He might not have been able to verbalize it at the time, but I think he knew that my name would be a challenge. I was an unattractive child, with buck teeth, glasses and a speech impediment. Needless to say, I've never loved being the center of attention, and my name is a MOUTH FULL. If I had been thinking, I would have changed it when I turned 18. 

When asked for my name, I usually give "Martha Stewart." It worked well for me when I used it as a laser tag identifier and beat a bunch of teenagers. I must have been channeling my inner felon. But when I called and ordered pizza and gave that name, the kid taking my order actually hung up on me. Uh....... hello?

Anyways, dad was the master of nicknames. His family was always twisting names around, and it continues as the family grows. His sister was named "Sarah", but everyone knew her as "Sally." Dad was always called "Norky", and my mom hated it. He called us kids by nicknames as well. Some were just terms of endearment and it was always kind of a treat to hear him use the same names for our kids that he used with us. 

One of the funniest nicknames my dad ever used was for his boss. Dad was a dental lab tech for an orthodontist named Dr. English. He was a short guy with big hairy arms and sausage like fingers. Dentists didn't use gloves at that time and I'm sure you can imagine what it was like to be a child sitting in his chair. Dad always referred to Dr. English as "Stubby". Stubby seemed okay with it.

My older brother was 10 years old when little brother was born. He was so excited to have a brother instead of another sister. It didn't really matter that they were separated by so many years. Older brother picked up one of his nicknames because little brother couldn't say his name. It always came out "Mingy". So the rest of us began using it as well. "Mingy" became "Ming", which became "Emperor Ming" as he got older.

My little brother was tagged by our cousin, Chris. We vacationed in Mammoth every summer and one year, Chris came with us. Little brother was about 2-ish and loved to run around without his diaper. It was quite a funny sight  and the nickname "Buns" was the obvious choice. We all spell it differently. Mings' spelling of choice is "Bunz", whereas mine is "Bunns". I think Buns himself prefers to ignore the fact that he was even given such a nickname.

We used to just shorten his given name, but it always sounded like we were saying "Grunny". I think little brother should be thankful for "Bunns."

Be kindly affectioned one to another 

with brotherly love;

In honor, preferring one another;

Romans 12:10

My Favorite Hairbrush

When I was 6 years old, my mom was diagnosed with an ovarian cyst. At the time, that meant absolutely nothing to me, except it seemed to involve a lot of worry. I've ram dumped a good bit of my childhood, and my mother says it's for the best. But that ovarian cyst has become a part of family legend. When it began to kick, my life changed forever.

That's how I found out that I would no longer be the youngest child in our family. Mom wasn't misdiagnosed, but there was a baby inhabiting her personal space as well as the cyst. I don't remember much about her pregnancy, but I do remember watching her and my dad drive off to the hospital. She was wearing a bright orange terry cloth bathrobe. Snapshots from childhood are odd things.

A few days later, my folks came home bearing a little baby with a wrinkled up forehead and introduced him as my new brother. Of course, the older brother, Ming, was ecstatic! I didn't really care that it made me the only girl between the boys, and I thought having a baby around would be pretty cool. And it was. Even when he did the typical baby things like messing all over everyone with the typical baby emissions.

He was a pretty cool little kid. Before we knew it, he was as wide as he was tall, with a triple E shoe width and a Brylcreem comb over. Even though my brothers were 10 years apart, they were always pretty tight. Ming didn't even get upset when little brother kneed him in the eye for stealing his favorite blankie. Though Ming didn't take it quite so well when little brother broke all the wheels off his model cars.

Little bro came to be affectionately called "Bunns." Or "Buns" or "Bunz" depending on who was writing it. He referred to himself as "BNPN". I remember him coming home from kindergarten one day insisting that was his name and that was how it was written. He was quite adamant about it. He has since learned the proper spelling for his name, but it's quite common to get things from him signed "BNPN" even to this day.

I spent a fair amount of time with my little brother. We played outside a good bit, and often walked together to the market around the corner. My mom started working in a card shop near the market when we were kids, and  often after school we would walk over there just to check in.

By the time little bro had grown into his pre-teen years, he had begun to develop a pretty wicked wit. And it was that wit that spelled the end of one of my most prized possessions. One day while walking to the market around the corner, he was doing a little good natured teasing. And because I had no comeback, I did the next logical thing and smacked him on the shoulder with my favorite hairbrush.

I can't tell you why I was even carrying it. My hair was long and straight so I didn't spend much time on it in those days, and I never carried a brush with me. But this particular day I had it in my hand and it was the only weapon with which to retaliate. And so as he laughed, I smacked his shoulder, and as if it happened in slow motion, my favorite brush broke in two and the business end crashed to the sidewalk. The air rushed from my lungs as if pulled out by a vacuum. I was crushed. It was the coolest brush ever, and it's demise only resulted in making Bunns laugh harder. Little creep.

Life moved on. The hairbrush ended up in the trash. Little brother was already taller than me when "he broke my brush", and soars to even greater heights now. His wit has mellowed and  I've worked hard at moving past this enormous loss. It was blue, you know? The hairbrush. It was blue.

Behold,

 how good and how pleasant it is 

for brothers to dwell together 

in unity! 

Ps. 133:1