"Q"

Bumper Sticker Truth 

Dog and Owner look-alikes   

Be Advised !

If you donot like dogs, this might be a long read .

An article in a regional newspaper today cited a new book written
by the Director of Duke University's 'Canine Cognition Center'.

The Day of 'Rescue

"You gotta know when to hold 'em ..."

   His book is The Genius of Dogs (and no, I have not read the study nor is this an advertisement for the work.)  He cites several distinguishing attributes of canines that those who love 'the critters' will not find surprising, especially their ability to 'infer meaning'.

   Now, lest this post seem to be a glowing tribute to all dogs...some of my closest encounters with fear have been in confrontations with dogs, especially feral ones.  As a former long-distance runner, I appreciated the experience cited in a book title, On the Run from Dogs and People.  And the abundance of pit bulls in our small town gives me cause for concern.

    For many years of my life, I have owned a dog. Perhaps it is the other way around...the study did highlight a dog's ability to 'manipulate' humans.  Dad brought home a handful of fur one day that became "Tootsie".  She lived to be about 16 and met an untimely death at the hands of a 'hit and run driver'.  When my daughter was in kindergarten, her brother gave her a part-collie that became "Knuckles" who lived until my daughter was a college student.  Briefly, we had  "Klunkalunk" who undoubtedly was the dumbest creature I had ever known, though very affectionate and prone to wander.  Next came "Tela", my daughter's Shih-tzu, and "Poodler", a mixed breed 'Pomergeranium'.  And, family and friends have had an array of dogs with all kinds of descriptive names: our daughter's family acquired "Rocky" sometime after the death of the venerable "Hoops".  Our son has "Tattoo" and one of my brothers had "Bartels", who loved chasing a soccer ball.  My other brother has a penchant for naming his dogs with human names, hence, "Sam",  "Lewis", "Hundley", "Ellie", and "Clara"     being among the more memorable.  And, a good friend recently mourned the loss of "Sam", a majestic Golden. Our D-2 (second daughter, though not biological) spent some time in the Czech Republic years ago and named her Boxer "Lasko", which I think is Czech for "Sweetie" ( Anyway, it is a name of endearment.)

    Now, there is "Q", a Shih-tzu , so named  because we 'rescued' him one day when he was sauntering through the drive-through window of a local bank.  (Now, six years later, that is a favorite destination for him.  The tellers know his story and always have a 'treat'...part of his extensive vocabulary. ) His 'word recognition', I believe, matches that of some children.  In a word, he is 'smart', causing us often to speak in code. And it seems that he often knows when we are departing the house before a word has been spoken to that effect. He has a 'girl friend', "Lilly", a spayed member of the canine menagerie where we board him when going out of town.  Her owner tells us how they romp through the house together at approximately the same time every day.  And when we pick him up after our being away several days, he wants nothing more than a day's sleep to recover from the exhaustion.

      The day we found him, he was a mess. ( See picture above. ) Friends later told us that they had seen him wandering the streets for some time.  Lacking identification, not only was he not 'house broken' (but he learned quickly), he was missing teeth, had a heart murmur (due to malnutrition; since corrected), and was greatly in need of a haircut, shave in some parts, actually.  Nor had he been neutered.  Even today, there are vestiges of his time 'on the streets'. Often, after eating, he will push his food bowl around with his nose in an apparent effort to hide it.  Sudden noises frighten him and sometimes it seems that he inhales rather than chews his treats, as if food is scarce as in 'the old days.'  

   While we were engaged , my wife told me of her strong  preference for  'no indoor pets', largely because of the antique furnishings in the house.  Q won  'paws down'.  I once told our son that Q was 'cheap entertainment' and then corrected that to simply 'entertainment.'  Did you know that in addition to regular Vet GP's  there is a Canine Ophthalmologist?  We learned that tidbit when a Shih-tzu genetic problem necessitated surgery.  He is of such a kind and sweet disposition that even his Vet looks forward to his check-ups.

     Now, I know...most dog lovers think that theirs is the smartest, most companionable, etc. Talking and writing about one's dog has been know to cause otherwise reasonably intelligent persons to seem slightly befuddled.  And much has been written about how pet ownership can aid in reducing stress. lower blood pressure and offer other health benefits.  And, many persons have pointed out that "Dog" is "God" spelled backwards.  Perhaps you have seen the slogan : "May I be as good a person as my dog believes that I am."

     Have you hugged your dog today?

         Satchel

   


     

CHARLIE

     I went "back to school" yesterday.  More precisely, I attended the first session of a multi-week course that will lead to my being credentialed as a "Licensed Professional Counselor-Supervisor".
During the almost twenty years that I have been an LPC, I have informally supervised several Interns and Residents. . . but lacked the official 'credential'.  It has been several years since I was a 'student' in any kind of formal manner.  I like to think that I am constantly seeking to learn and to understand more and am a 'student of life' in that regard. When I was a youth, my dad frequently said, "Son, you ask more questions than a Philadelphia lawyer."  Never did understand the 'Philadelphia lawyer' reference; but did know that one of the ways to learn is by asking questions, hopefully, good  questions.

    Sometime back I wrote a blog, asking "Whose  Shoulders Do 
You Stand On?"  Well, in preparing for yesterday's class session, I was reminded of a particular set of shoulders that have greatly aided my understanding and practice of being a therapist.  When I began my Residency in 1990, Charlie Wilson was my initial supervisor.  Already something of a legend around our Center as the OWO ("Old Wise One"), he was not 'old' chronologically . (Actually, he probably has had a couple of birthdays fewer than I.) 
But he was the perfect fit for the needs that I brought into my training.

    Charlie often regaled the staff and Residents with stories from his seemingly unending treasure trove.  And, I have never heard anyone offer a more plaintive rendition of the old song, "In the Pines".  At one particularly critical juncture, he served as Interim Director of our Center, but I always sensed that he preferred to think of himself primarily as a Therapist and Teacher.

    Early in the program, when Residents' anxiety was understandably 'out the roof', he sought to buffer some of that with this pearl of wisdom: "Your first task as a counselor is to know that you can get into and out of a counseling session alive."  Once, in Group Supervision session, someone asked Charlie what his intervention would have been in a certain situation.  I have long since forgotten the intervention because his preface was so powerful: "Well, on a good day, I think I would ...".  It registered with me that despite my best efforts, intentions, intelligence, etc., some days perhaps would not be  good days.  Talk about freeing!

    Recently, I came across an article from a now-forgotten publication wherein Charlie was discussing his understanding and philosophy of supervision with several colleagues.  When I was training, I was unaware of the article, but I certainly experienced those principles.  Among them: "Supervisory relationships should have a high degree of  mutuality and collegiality to function properly."  Charlie was 'authoritative' but not 'authoritarian'.  He noted his "zeal" in sharing what had meant so much to him.

     Being something of an 'archivist' (others might say 'packrat'), I tend to retain materials that I think might have future value.  So, this morning, I located a notebook of documents from my Residency program and found a Supervisor's Report that Charlie wrote on my behalf to a credentialing body. I remembered again why and how the professional relationship with him had been of such encouragement and why even now after not having seen him in several years, I still often quote him to clients and to those Interns and Residents whom I supervise.  Among the kind things that he wrote, " In short, I have more confidence in him than he has for himself at times."

    Charlie retired several years ago, largely for health reasons.  My office now is the one he occupied for many years.  Often I look at  one particular spot in the room and remember occupying that space frequently  as Charlie patiently sought to help my growth as a professional counselor.  So it is with a renewed sense of appreciation that yesterday's first class helped me remember that I stand on strong shoulders that helped me see 'further down the road' of counseling than I could have seen on my own.
   Thanks, Charlie.

       Satchel

"LAZARUS" . . .AND "DIVINE INTERVENTION"

   My friend has given himself a new Name . . ."Lazarus".  The New Testament narrative tells of Jesus giving new life to his friend, Lazarus.  My friend will tell you in no uncertain terms that he has been given new life.  For the past year, he has been receiving chemotherapy in what he called his "latest quest for cancer remission".  The most recent bone marrow lab report indicates NO sign of cancer on one side of his hip bone and  "such a small amount on the left that Johns Hopkins could not even put a % on it", so that he is considered in complete remission.  There will be one last procedure that will last but a short time and "then LAZARUS LIVES !!!!", he wrote.

     In our conversation soon after his email, I sensed we both struggled to know how to find the words for all this.  Grateful ?
Beyond measure.  Amazed ? Almost unspeakably so.  In Awe?
Almost to tears.

    He and I have been friends since 1968 when I joined the faculty where he was already teaching.  Sometime in the 1970's when the 'fitness bug' had bitten us, we regularly met in the college weight room to 'pump iron'.  I think I bailed on that endeavor first, realizing that  I would never have a 'Charles Atlas' physique.  (If you remember that 'back of the comic book advertisement', then you qualify for AARP and Medicare both.)  Then we turned to running together regularly for a few miles. One day he noted the irony of two middle-aged men running for fitness through the streets of the cemetery that was near the college.

      In his mid-50's, he retired from teaching and enrolled in seminary.  I was in awe of his ability to master Hebrew and Koine Greek languages.  After graduating, he was ordained into the Presbyterian ministry, serving a parish until retiring for health reasons.  In that capacity and thereafter, he has on several occasions been my informal 'pastor'.  I value his perspectives and opinions and remain appreciative for his presence and support during some of my difficult times.

     He received his cancer diagnosis approximately five years ago and has fought the evil thing with great courage, wit, and honesty.
Many persons have included him in their prayers of intercession.  
And, he wrote, "I am increasingly considering [ remission to be]
'Divine Intervention."  Then, he added, "What  do you think of 'divine intervention' by the way?"

    Well, as I noted in an earlier post, I am a retired United Methodist minister and I know that there is a service for healing in the UM Book of Worship. As a practicing psychotherapist / counselor, I often am privy to 'healing' that cannot be attributable to my 'professional skills.'  I also know that there are lots of charlatans out there making claim to divine powers and willing to heal all kinds of human ills and infirmities . . . usually for a 'love offering' (read 'fee').  Someone cynically noted that "if {name deleted} is such a great healer, why does he wear a toupee?"  I believe it a mistake to yield the matter of 'healing' to such as these.

    Within the same week as this friend's extraordinary news, I learned of the critical condition of another friend and fraternity brother from college years.   Apparently, injuries sustained in an automobile accident in 1960 are responsible in some way for organ failure now.  He, too, is someone for whom I  offer daily prayers of intercession.  

    The poet Shel Silverstein in a poem of 'Questions' asked (and this is from memory so probably not exactly verbatim) "why do some folks get well and others get sicker?"  Sounds like great honesty in the face of great imponderables.  In matters such as that, many folks simply conclude that the whole business of life is a huge throw of the dice.  I, instead, conclude that there are many things beyond my comprehension;  while I have experienced anger at the second friend's circumstance, I cannot conclude that the cancer remission is solely attributable to 'medical science' or divine caprice.  So, I will continue to pray for health for my fraternity brother . . .and invite you to do so also.

    Satchel

CLARIFICATION

      I indicated in the last post, "Let us Live While Us Lives", that I was not attempting to initiate a theological conversation about whether or not I believe that there is "More" beyond this Time/Space sphere, i.e., an afterlife.  And, that is still not the intent or purpose of that entry, even though some readers have interpreted it otherwise.  Let no one read that post as a rebuttal, denial, or any such on my part as to my personal 'theology' on the matter.  For the record, I am, among other things, a retired United Methodist minister.  Also, I am aware that many of my readers have a different perspective.  I donot intend the blog to be an instrument of evangelism.
   The intended 'point' of that  post was that every day is 'gift' and aging can bring with it an appreciation of the 'giftedness' of it all.

    Satchel

"LET US LIVE WHILE US LIVES . . ."

         A dear friend of  many years sent an email in response to What a Mess ! His observation was a personal comment about some of the 'realities' of growing older, particularly that at some point, it's all going to end.  That awareness is causing him great existential angst...ANXIETY in CAPITAL letters.  We grow old, we die. Then what?  In greater or lesser degree, many share my friend's observation, myself included.
(And, in an effort to be fair to my friend, I realize that perhaps I have 'read into' the intent of his comments.)

      Other friends from their faith perspectives will assert with certainty that they 'know' what comes next. In this current post, I have no interest in joining a theological dialogue, conversation, or , even, argument. Perhaps at another time.

    For now, my friend's lament is causing me to focus, instead,  on what I call The Meantime.  The duration of that period obviously can contribute to great dis-ease. Posts, commentaries, opinions, geriatric stories abound in cyberspace. Just google, Growing Old, and see what you find. Some is substantive, some just plain JUNK. (I hope these musings do not fall into that latter category. I claim no profundity. . . .Just some personal musings and mutterings.)

     I went back to T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Literary criticism (to say nothing of comprehension) is not among my skills.  But these lines virtually waved to me: I grow old, I grow old.  Just previously, he had inquired, And would it have been worth it, after all ...?  

    Circumstances can make huge differences in how someone responds to that last question... matters such as one's physical health; loneliness or a strong support network; abuse and other trauma, past or present, and whether or not healed;  mental illness or health; hope or despair; etc. I do not see our 'meaning' to be that of  Sisyphus perpetually rolling that stone up the mountain only to have it roll back down upon him just as he reaches the top. ( Albert Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus comes to mind.)

     Purportedly, William James, author of The Varieties of Religious Experience, told an interviewer that he believed in a life beyond this one because (paraphrased as I remember it) he thought the Universe is not wasteful and "I am just getting fit to live".  

   Well, at 75, it is past denial that "I grow old..." I hope that I do not die anytime soon.  There is much that I still wish to do, see, accomplish, family and friends to spend time with. . . and on it goes. Which brings me back to The Until and , has it been (is it) worth it. I know 'stuff' now that I wish I had known back then.  Guess what?  I didnot know it.  Probably that means at some point I am going to know 'stuff' that could have been good to have known in 2013.  Too much obsessing on that can produce a kind of 'analysis paralysis.'  How, then, am I going to live the NOW ?  (If you wish, ask that of yourself.) 

   One of the keys for getting good ANSWERS is to ask good 
QUESTIONS.  For now, I am grateful that my 'answer' is affirmative.  Many persons, circumstances, events have assisted me in arriving at this conclusion, lest that affirmation carry some kind of self-sufficiency tenor that is not intended.

    A story has provided a kind of 'touchstone' as I have reflected on my friend's email.  In the1970's, I taught US History in a nearby college.  In Part II of the survey course, students wrote 'Family History' term papers based on conversations with family members about the impact upon their families of events such as The Great Depression of the 1930's, World War II, sociological changes, Viet-Nam,etc.
One student reported that during the Great Depression while her grand-father was working with a tenant farmer on a chore,  the tenant's child came by en route to the nearby store and inquired if his father wanted him to make any purchases.  The father drew a nickel (5 cents) from his pocket with the instruction to purchase a pound of pork chops.  As the child was walking away, the father called him back, gave him another nickel with the instruction, "Here, boy. Buy two pounds.Let us live while us lives."

     It likely is not the whole story, but let us live while us lives.

        Satchel

"WHAT A MESS !"

       While away at work last week, I received a call from my understandably upset wife...A pipe under the kitchen sink had broken sometime during the night.  Upon discovering the situation, she solicited the assistance of neighbors for mopping, sopping, and otherwise getting the 'flood' out of the house.  Unfortunately, that was only the 'tip of the iceberg'; however, it was anything but ice.  It was a hot water pipe, so there was also steam...in the air, on doors, and on windows, on everything in the affected areas of the house.  Well, once that part was finished and the disaster clean up crew began their work, something of the magnitude of 'the mess' began to emerge.
   The kitchen is on main level. Underneath are the den, the laundry room and my office.  Well, to this point, we know: the den ceiling and paneling are ruined (as in gone, removed); a sofa and a desk are ruined; my office flooring is ruined...gone, removed; A couple of rugs were damaged beyond restoration; some antiques were water damaged; we are down to sub-flooring in kitchen. So, gone is the tile floor that was installed just a few years ago by a master craftsman.  Water ran out of the house under two relatively new exterior doors. They have begun to warp and will need replacing. Kitchen cabinets will also need replacing, as will likely the tile in the foyer.  Those are the ones that I can cite off-hand. Are there others?  And, beyond the structural concerns, there are inconveniences galore: No kitchen appliances (they have been removed to allow clean-up and beginnings of restoration).  Limited seating areas (other parts of the house have been sealed off to contain dust, residue, etc.) and no desk.  (Gives a entirely new understanding of  'lap-top computer').
    Driving home yesterday afternoon, I heard an NPR item on the plight of a homeless couple in Baltimore.  It was a helpful 'keep your perspective' reminder.  We have  space limiting, confining, inconvenient messes galore.  But, we are warm and dry and safe.
(Even though the security alarm did activate around 3 a.m. a couple of nights ago.  Apparently, condensation in the sensors had caused a temporary malfunction.) We have taken lots of pictures and not just for insurance claims.  We are being told to think in terms of at least two months for complete restoration. Then I remember that two months ago was well past Christmas.  Another, 'keep your perspective' reminder noted.  And the magnanimity of heart and tangible assistance of neighbors has been gratifying.  I do not think that either of these 'reminders' means that we need minimize 'the mess'.  It's more than an inconvenience and it is highly stressful.  But, it is not 'terminal'.  In writing this, I am reminded of one of my mother's favorite sayings: "This, too, shall pass."  What I wanted to tell mom but never did was that sometimes the 'passing' is a pain in the ying-yang.
   Satchel

CAN YOU SING, "IT'S A SMALL WORLD" ?

...Or, so goes the musical ditty that  was the background song for one of the rides through a well-known amusement complex in the Southern U.S.  (Well, it 'used to be', maybe still is; I haven't been there in over thirty years.  That kind of lapse occurs when your youngest 'child' is over forty.) But,back to the song.  Question: How far away does something have to be in order to be considered 'distant' ...in miles or years?  Answer: Not as far as in other times. 

   Consider: 
     .At the time of this writing, my daughter who lives in Germany is visiting in London; my step-son (I greatly dislike that designation) is a tourist in Paris; a brother is a tourist in Tokyo; our  D-2 (second daughter, though not biological) will soon go to Nepal for three weeks teaching  'English as Second Language' to students there; two of our good friends recently visited Australia and New Zealand, as well as accompanying us on an Alaska cruise last year;  my wife and I recently returned from a trip to the eastern Caribbean.  A generation or two ago, these wanderings would have been unheard of for families in our socio-economic demographic, unless in military deployment.
   
     .There is 'Facetime' or 'Skype' and other technological 'wonders'.  Have you utilized those features of technology?  That you have the tekky-savvy to access blogs might suggest that seeing someone half a world away while you converse is not an unknown phenomenon for you. I have been writing this blog approximately two months and I am amazed at the range of geographic 'hits' that have occurred.  A friend recently told me of his company's plan to conduct the initial round of job interviews using FaceTime. Though not a very good  Scrabble player, I have enjoyed playing with the same anonymous friends from US and 'overseas' for three or more years.

  .  Then there is the X levels of connectedness experience.  You know, you are talking with someone and discover that they know someone who knows someone you know, etc.  Several years ago, my son introduced me to a colleague and her husband.  I recognized him as having been a camper at the camp where I had worked as an undergraduate forty years previously.  Surprised him and me !  During that same visit, my son introduced me to another colleague.  He ,  also forty years prior,  had been a suite-mate at Wake Forest University of a high school classmate.
    . Walking down the street in "Somewhere in the World" you see an acquaintance from 'back home' or 'back then'.  On my last visit to Disney World in the late 1970's, I was surprised to see a colleague from the college where we taught some hundreds of miles away.  Probably you have had your own comparable experiences.
    .Travel time: Even allowing for the reality of missed flight connections, delays, gasoline prices, etc.,  the ease of moving from 'here' to 'there' bears no resemblance to 'how it used to be'.
In 1971, my immigrant grand-father ennumerated some of the changes that had occurred since his 1890 arrival at Ellis Island as a seven year old: automobiles, airplanes, wide-spread usage of telephones, radio, television, man on the moon ... to name some of the more obvious.  When I was a child, his living in south Alabama was , as the vernacular had it, ' a long way off' from our home in North Carolina.  It's still not 'next door' but it's much closer now.

      Seems to me that there are some implications of this 'small world'  Reality.  The "Better behave wherever you go, someone may recognize you" aphorism suggests the great need for integrity, being consistent in one's principles and actions.  I'm not suggesting some kind of 'Peckinsniff' sanctimonious, self-righteous pretense. .. rather, 'being who we are' in all times and places without duplicity.

   Imperialistic mentality or expressions of cultural superiority are anachronistic, at best. Xenophobia isnot pretty, however it may be packaged.  'Might makes Right' likely will never totally disappear but an awareness that other People, traditions, values, and their 'ways' are also valid seems imperative.  And this does not mean some kind of 'least common denominator' and 'anything goes' must prevail. 'Diversity' has become an over-worked code word for many while the need for mutual respect and accountability are increasingly needed. Encountering 'Rude' has become an unfortunate part of travel. Not a Universal, of course, but it's  'interesting' what being  away from home seems to make 'o.k.'
While the 'Ugly American' is often still dismissive of 'foreigners' ,
'get out of my way' belongs to no nationality.

   John Donne advised not to inquire for whom the village death bell tolled.  It tolls for all of us.  The diminishment of you diminishes me.  Acceptance of responsibility for one's choices, actions, etc. meets with great resistance from many persons. (But, perhaps, that's a topic for another occasion.)

    "It's a small world, after all" ...and it's getting smaller.


         Satchel

NICKNAMES I HAVE KNOWN . . .

      In conversation with a brother after the recent post, Kar-rak-ters, I mentioned that the nearby mill village we had known when  youths was " a colony of Kar-rak-ters".  He replied, "You could tell by the nicknames!"  Since then I have been musing about some of those (sometime) colorful names ...not all from that village ...that I have personally known.  
    But , first, some 'definitions'.  According to Wikipedia, nickname is "a usually familiar or humorous but sometimes pointed or cruel name given to a person or place. . . . A nickname is sometimes considered desireaable, symbolizing a form of acceptance but can often be a form of ridicule."  These can include allusions to physical characteristics such as height, weight, hair color (or lack),etc.; personality;  titles; or lifestyle, along with other origins.
     In the musings and meanderings that follow, examples of all the above (and more) can be seen:  Runt really was the sibling of Arthur (aka, Fat). For reasons unknown to me, her husband was Slew.  Claiborne was also known as Pune (for Puny, Small) because he was a large man. When I was around three years old, I called his mother, Other Mamma, because she was so kind to me. In the same town, another large man was Tadpole (a small frog).  My maternal grand-father didnot move fast, hence his moniker, Speed.  A grand-son (not me) with a similar modality of motion on the basketball court was tagged, Lightning.  I never knew why Mr. Atwater was Turtle.  His brother was Dink, and their sister, Lillie Gander, became, Goosey. A distant cousin, Charles, was always Bones because he "didn't have a lot of meat on his bones" ...he was skinny. A former neighbor became Spring because, another neighbor said, "her butt springs when she runs."
    The amateur  (or 'sandlot') baseball team (a mainstay within that culture in the early, mid-twentieth century) in that village was itself a colorful composite of nicknames: Turkey, Shrimp or Squirt (same man...diminuitive in stature), Shike, Dub, Doc, Firty-Free (he could not pronounce the diphthong "Th" when a youth), and Shine. 
     On my highschool baseball team, the pitcher was Chubby (rather rotund) and the catcher was Tiny (6'6").  The center fielder was known by his hair color, Red. Our red-headed second baseman was Rusty. Our bald coach was Curley but was not shorn by a utility player, Razor.
    Some nicknames given in childhood persist: one cousin's  'hero' was  frontiersman, Kit Carson, but from his youthful lips that became Kit Kotton. In the event he had been born a girl, another cousin said that his parents had chosen the names Roberta Josephine.  So for sixty plus years, he has been RoJo.  My nephew had difficulties pronouncing his name, Joseph, when a small boy: "My name is Do-Dup", now almost forty years later usually abbreviated simply to Dup.  Dad's desire to attach to one of my brothers the name of a friend of compact size, Bunchy, never stuck. Probably because my brother's physiology changed.  Sonny and Junior, now in their  70's, were tagged early in life.  Trey lives nearby. Leo became Sister after he failed to convince my dad that the girl he was holding hands with was his "sister".  My sons were fortunate that Michopher and Chris-el didn't stick, except for the neighbor's child who could not pronounce "Michael" and "Christopher".
     Several of my college fraternity brothers and pledges had descriptive nicknames: Sunshine, Sully, Sweat, Squirmy, Chetchie, his brother was Little Chetchie, Slick, Rough-house, Bolo, Coon, and Wolfie.   Another, Shep, had no acquaintance with Bo-Peep (who was also the father of the aforementioned, Turkey) nor with Slingshot.  
     Back to the mill village: An otherwise nice man, Cakie was not always a Sweetie Pie when teasing me about my cousin's beating me up.  His grand-son, Corky, lived nearby, as did Goo, the brother of Hobo. Champ got his life-long nickname after whipping the school bully.  I don't know whatever happened to Hobo.
   Then, there were the brothers...Jaybird (father of Shrimp/Squirt),
Babe, and Sir Sidney ( sometimes aka, Cute to his wife. They were the parents of Champ.). To my knowledge, their brother, Lewis, never had a nickname. Their nephew has been known since  boyhood as Kilroy, the ubiquitous World War II watchdog. 
   Within our mom's family, there were: Codger, Grassie (for 'Grass-Widow', a long ago euphemism for 'Divorcee'. She and Harvey (Morris) parented RoJo), Monk (short for 'Monkey', the family comedienne. She was Babe's wife.)  Her twin (Kit Kotton and Cootie's (!) mom), Skin was , what else, 'Skinny' as a young woman.  Her husband, Weesie, was brother to Shube or Shubert (for Rupert).  Mom, Leona, became to many in the family, Cora, after a childhood friend's mother.  When I became an adult, dad and I frequently addressed each other as Wax, an often-occurring mangling of our surname.  (Otherwise, I have never had a nickname...of which I am aware ... other than Satchel (by which I sign the blog) or Ziggy, that I use in playing "Words with Friends". I am a psychotherapist and that one is meant as a playful reference to  Dr. Freud. Most of my friends have just called me by my surname.) Youthful grand-nieces and -nephews, unable to pronounce my wife's name, Loretta, have variously called her Baretta, Mizretta, and Littleretta. The father of three of those children was (is) known as Mouse.
    As noted above, some nicknames were given because of physical characteristics, and, again, some were cruel: Shakey, Hammerhead, Jughead, Sleepy, and Mule.  Shorty was Slew's younger brother. No undergrads ever addressed the Dean (with the large proboscis) by his unflattering nickname, Hosenose. One of my dearest friends became Fireplug because his short height disqualified him as a Moonfixer. 
     Others denote occupation: Before becoming a Preacher, Gale was a mortician, hence, Digger (for those old enough to remember a radio character, "Digger O'Dell, the friendly Undertaker"). When a boyhood friend became President of a nearby college, I sometimes addressed him as RevDocPrez.  He didn't seem to mind. I do not know if any of his patients ever addressed my surgeon brother as Sawbones.  In college, many thought that Dr. LeVey was so rigid because he was also Colonel (again, not in direct address).  When I was a parish minister, I began calling one good friend, Bishop, and he reciprocated by making me Mayor of the unincorporated village where I lived.
      The most cruel nickname I ever heard of, however, was Bas for the son of an unwed mother. Poopsie-pie, in my Army Basic Training Company, was a frequent target for Sarge's sadistic humor.  And, I sometimes wonder if Nip ever met Tuck and how the owner of the pool hall became Friday.  Chubby sometimes 'explained' his absences to a naive teacher as his having an appointment with Dr. Friday. She never knew that it wasn't a medical condition.  But then, maybe the propensity for giving nicknames is within itself a "medical condition".


    ( Do you know, do you have, a colorful/unique nickname?  I would welcome hearing of them if you care to leave a 'comment'.)

    Satchel