Hassle Hassle

NOTE: While digging through some old files, I came across this. It was written in (if the time stamp is to be believed) late 2003. I figured I would go ahead and share it with you now. After all, it is a traditional family story:

My first years in school were smack dab in the middle of the CB radio fad. You remember the CB radio, right? Breaker, breaker, one-nine … you got a smokey on your tail. So, my folks, who always tried to keep up with the times, installed a CB radio in each of their cars. In a day and age before the cell phone, it was pretty handy. Mom was in nursing school and didn’t leave until 7 or 8 in the evening. She could get in the car and tell Dad she was on her way.

Of course, this meant that everybody in the family had to have a CB handle. The name that would be used on the CB. Dad doled them out, we didn’t get to pick our own. My brother got “Bone Rack.” He was always pretty scrawny, so the name fit and he kinda liked it. What did I get? “Fat Man.” As in, “Na na na na na na na na Fat Man!” I was not a fat kid, a little chunky maybe, but I was not fat!

Dad liked to give us nicknames. It was something he did out of love. Y’know, the kind of love that degrades and demeans. That kind of love.

I was twelve and a half years old when my baby sister was born. Yeah, little gap there. Guess you could say she was a surprise to everyone. And from the time she was very little, I was her favorite. She loved her big brother. Loved me!

Around the time she was starting to walk pretty well, she took to calling me, “Hassle.” Hassle? For weeks and weeks, I couldn’t figure it out. She would come up to me, arms outstretched, wanting to be picked up, and say, “Hassle, hassle.” I had no idea where it came from. Until one Sunday afternoon …

Dad and I were watching a ball game on TV while my sister was playing with one of her puzzles on the floor. After a while, Dad turned to me. “When are you gonna take out that trash, asshole?” “Hassle, hassle!” Ah … I get it. My lovely baby sister calls her favorite big brother … asshole. Thanks Dad!

After a while, we broke her of the habit. She didn’t take to calling me “asshole” again for about fifteen years