In elementary school I was a head higher than the girls in my class and most of the boys. I hated being too tall. I didn’t feel that way around my best friend’s dad though.
“How you doin’ you big son-of-gun?” he’d ask.
I’d straighten up and answer, “Just fine, you big son-of-a-gun.”
I felt big, not as in “too tall” big, but as in “you’re special” big.
Amazing isn’t it? How powerful words are––building up or tearing down? I’ve carried those words of endearment with me for over 40 years.
On this last trip back home, my good friend, Debbi Gay, and I visited her aging father. What an honor. I felt just as “big” in his presence then, as I did 40 years ago.
Thank you––you big son-of-a-gun.