It was Meant with Love

One of our offspring was sometimes called "bezoar" as a child, although I mentally spelled it "bezore".

I once used that moniker in the doctor's office, and our pediatrician asked, "Do you know what that word means?"

Naturally I answered in the affirmative.

"Of course you do," he replied, shaking his head, and making it obvious that he had come to know us well indeed.

Nobody likes it when their children are ill, but if we had to deal with such...and with three asthmatics, we sure did...Dr. Konieczny was the man to visit. Our children were safe in his capable hands.

And he got us. He understood that an awful nickname like hairball could be used with great affection and fun. I suppose though that it was rough to be a middle kid whose nickname, Beezey, got changed to Beezer, and then swiftly morphed to Bezoar in the minds...and mouths...of her siblings and her terrible mother.

Now her online moniker is Breezey375, no mention of hair, or balls, or cow stomachs, because cows are where we found them back in the day.

Today is her birthday, and despite the terrible abuse she endured as a child, or perhaps because of it, she has come to be a truly compassionate, sweet, loving, caring person.

Sarcastic too.

Happy Birthday, Becky, it was all meant with love.