Last week, Maggie turned ten. On the way home from her very special birthday dinner, Maggie brought up all of the other birthdays in January. She likes that it is such a special month shared by many.
“Mom and Dad celebrate their birthday this month,” she said about us, fancying this bond that we share.
“Yes, that’s right. And Uncle Patrick,” I added.
“And Lexi,” Carson said.
“Who else? Is there anymore?” Tom asked.
We were silent for a moment as we waited for the kids to name more people. Lizzie said, “Isn’t Uncle Cranky’s birthday in January, too?”
When Lizzie was a toddler, for whatever reason, she chose not to call my brother Uncle Ricky, she chose to call him Uncle Cranky. Maybe it was because he had a scowl on his face all of the time. Maybe it was because he, in fact, was often cranky; however, she hasn’t referred to him in this manner in quite some time, so it made us all laugh.
“Oh Giggers,” Tom said. “You don’t still think Uncle Ricky is cranky do you?”
She tapped her chin with her index finger, pursed her lips, stared at the ceiling and precociously mulled it over in her brain. Finally, she said, “Nope. But it is still fun to say.”
In agreement that not only is it fun to say, it is fun to manipulate into a gazillion sub-names, we spent the rest of the ride home renaming Uncle Ricky.
Thus, today, on your 48 birthday, Ricky, these names are in honor of you:
Lord of the Crank
Cranky Boo Peep
Big Poppa Crank
Earl of Crank
Sponge Bob Square Crank
and my personal favorite: Junior! (Because that’s what you’ll always be to me!)