And Finally

My dad turned to me again. "Dad, POND, not pom." Okay Pom, that's what I said." I was exasperated. Why didn't my dad understand me? "No dad, pond, you know the place with water, where the ducks swim. Like the Beautiful Place."

The Beautiful Place was the name we had given to an abandoned pool on the corner of a neighboring property. It was a treat when my older brother and sister let Rebecca and I tag along on a journey to the Beautiful Place. The pool, long filled in with rain water and waterlilies, was surrounded by a wilderness of tall grasses and cattails. Jewel-like dragonflies and feathery butterflies drifted from stalk to stalk, otherworldly beetles and waterbugs skated over the pond's wet surface, and fat leopard frogs would leap from the pools edge as we made our way around. It was a magical place, and one that inspired my new nickname "Pond".

There was only one thing to do. I would show my dad my new nickname; I would draw it for him. I went to the buffet in the dining room where we kept paper and crayons. "What are you doing?" my mom asked from the kitchen where she was doing dishes, clearly not wanting anything else to clean up.
"I need to draw dad a picture. I need to show him something important."
"Okay, put those crayons back when your done."
I did a good job with my drawing. The pond was easy. A circle colored in with blue, green streaks around the circle to show grass. The duck was harder. I couldn't figure out how to draw the duck on the pond, so I drew it next to the pond. I put the crayons away.
"Dad, dad, this is what I want my nickname to be. Dad.." and I ran back to his side.
"Oh hello Pom."
"No dad, here is a picture of what I want my name to be. Pond. See here is the duck and here is the water."
"I think Pom is a better name."
"But dad.."
"Pom, Pom, hi Pom. Judi's name is Pom." Oh no, my brothers and sisters had joined in. Now they were calling me Pom. As the fourth child of a crew of six (soon to be seven, then eight,and finally nine) I knew that once my older brother and sisters got hold of the name it was a done deal. Parents you could convince, siblings never.
"Don't call me Pom." I yelled, and stormed back to my place on the steps, my picture in my hands.
"Pom, pom, pom." they chanted. I buried my head in my arms and started to cry.
"Okay, that's enough." my dad said. "Stop teasing."
But I knew it was over, I would never be Pond, never get to be named after the Beautiful Place. I was right, my name became Pom and the word pond was never again mentioned in reference to my name.

And that dear reader, is how Pom came to be. Please don't feel too sad for the little girl who wanted to be named Pond. In many ways she lucked out. Pom is a far kinder name than Cactus Toes, Boy Toy, or Dog Meat (DM) (all family nicknames I'm afraid to say). As with all these names Pom started out as a a tease that guaranteed a reaction, then it became a name that, while I still didn't like it, I would respond to, by a year it was second nature, and finally Pom became a pet name, a sign of affection and a secret code that only a select group, my family, knew and used.

When I was in college I brought my friend Dave home with me to go fishing from my dad's boat. My dad started up the engine and I was at the bow listening to him give directions to push off the dock, pull in lines and put out bumpers. My friend Dave walked up to me and said in a low voice "Judi, why does your dad keep calling you Tom?"
"Oh, I hadn't noticed. He's calling me Pom. It's my nickname."