
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!

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
1 comment:
Just found your blog ... excellent stories. Thanks for sharing. The first car I ever purchased was a 1984 Cadillac Coupe De Ville - only because my dad wouldn't cosign on anything smaller. Loved the CB in that boat!
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