Monday, December 21, 2009

Dianne Again

For a brief time in my childhood, I was known as "Dianneagan."

I was in the third or fourth grade and loved spending time next door at my best friend's house. We were the same age, but she was the oldest of five, I the youngest of six. I liked her Dad. He was friendly and fun.

I don't know if this is what kids do these days, but back in my day, if you wanted to play with your friend, you walked over to their house, knocked on the door, and you would ask, "Can Mary (or whatever their name was) come out and play?" Sometimes the person came outside to play, sometimes we went in their house to play, and other times we were told that person wasn't there or was not allowed to have visitors at the moment.

On one of the times I went to visit Mary, her father answered the door and called out to Mary, "It's Dianneagan."

I looked at him, confused by what he had just called me. It sounded similar to "shenanigan" but instead of "shenana" it started with "Dianne."

I heard Mary pleading in the background, "Don't say that!"

"Why not? That's her new name, isn't it?" her father answered.

"What are you guys talking about?" I asked them, not sure what I had just walked into.

"Well, Mary said..." her father started.

Quickly interrupting him and trying to stop all further conversation, Mary said, "no, please, don't tell her."

Something secret was going on here and I had to find out what it was!

"Well," her father started again, "it's just that when Mary saw you walking towards our house, she said 'Oh no, here comes Dianne again. She's already been over here once today.' so I thought that was your new name."

Mary was trying her best to explain what she really meant, I was trying to figure out if she didn't want me coming around anymore, and her father was just laughing and laughing. After we settled down a bit, he assured me that Mary did want to see me and that I should keep coming over.

On my subsequent visits, I would announce myself as "Dianne Again" and we would all have a good laugh. It's also made for a good story even after all these years.

Sadly, Mary's father died of a heart attack two years after I was given my new name. He was only 36 years old. I really liked him and missed him desperately after his death. My new name was only sort-of funny after that and eventually I went back to my old name. But I think back fondly on the way he could turn a plain conversation into something humorous, personal, and long-lasting.

Tomorrow, I'll write about "Heel to toe."

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