Nickname

Growing up, I always had one or two good friends.

I was never the popular one who always had lots

of friends, never was one who all the other kids

were attracted to. I wasn’t the strongest, the fastest,

the meanest or the best looking kid on the block or

at school.

Different neighborhoods, different schools, I had

one or two friends with whom I would usually play,

invite over to my house or likewise be invited over

to theirs.

On Oakland Avenue, our first house, there was Larry

who lived up the street. We would ride our bikes to the

creek to hunt crawdads and turtles.

And then there was Otis who everyone called “Lucky.”

I never knew exactly why. Even his parents called him

that. I figured if they were going to do that, why didn’t

they just name him “Lucky” in the first place?

I did wonder what made him so lucky, anyway? I do

know that his parents belonged to an exclusive country

club. So then, why weren’t they all called “Lucky?” Why

just him?

I was often invited to go to that club’s swimming pool

with Lucky and his mom in the summer. I guess in a way

I was lucky too.

I never had a nickname growing up. Most kids I knew

either called me, “ Hanch” which is my last name. Or

sometimes I went by “Shithead” when kids wanted to be

funny or nasty. Mostly, only the Catholic kids I went to

school with did that.

I suppose they figured they could be forgiven in Confes-

sion on Saturday for using dirty words. The Protestant

kids I knew never cursed me like that. They didn’t have

the Catholic Sacrament of Confession to save them from

going to hell.

Suppose I was lucky enough growing up with one or two

good friends at a time who called me by my last name,

even though I had no nickname which told me so.

                                      -30-

Chris Hanch 7-1-2020