We’ve been hanging out a while and talking a lot and so far I’ve really enjoyed it.
Relax, this isn’t one of those “what are we?” talks. Please, I’d have a little more tact than to do that in a blog post… well, plus, that’s not really something I’d do at all.
No, this is more about your fun little nickname for me.
“Bud.” Buddy.” On far too many occasions, I’ve received the nondescript moniker.
I’m sure it comes from a good place, I’m not judging that.
It’s more the association I have with “bud.”
See, whenever my dad gets a call from one of his sons (there are three, mind you) he steers the conversation away from calling us by name. If backed into a corner, he’ll call one of us “bud” or “buddy” to hide the fact that he has no idea which son he is talking to.
It’s not that we all sound alike. We don’t. It’s that his memory is that bad.
So do you see why I’m not a fan of “bud”? Because I truly hope that is the only similarity that you and my father.