My mother handed me a message today. It was from someone named “Ken” and a number was left on the answering machine. I recognized the phone number as belonging to my cousin Ken, so I called him and asked when he called. He told me that he called on Saturday! That was four days ago! I apologized for the late return call as I just got the message today. I think he’ll call my cell phone from now on.
My mother came back and asked me, “Who’s Ken?”
“Cousin Ken,” I told her.
She gave me a blank look, and then said, “Kenny?” Ken is a few years older than me but he’ll always be “Kenny” to her. After all, he is her nephew.
Most people just call me “Jim”. An ex-girlfriend called me “James”, a few special friends call me “Jimbo”, and only my close family and high-caliber friends call me “Jimmy”. By “high caliber”, I mean that they carry guns for a living. Most of them are in law enforcement. I don’t argue with someone who’s armed better than I am.
Just don’t call me “Jimmy” then ask me to do something. Unless you’re packing heat, that is.
By the way, I'll see Ken this weekend.
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