Aunt Hairy

I was living in London, Ontario by myself.  I moved to get away from family and to “grow up” on my own and find out who I was.  It was a 3 hour drive at least from my family to where I lived.

Obviously, I didn’t get home often, unless it was a holiday or my parents got lonely for me or unless I was in a crisis.  But it was summer and I had some extra money left over, so I caught the train back home, Oshawa. 

Now my brother and his new family did not know I was coming but I knew they were coming to see us.  It was so good to be home that I didn’t even change out of my sleepwear that day.  Well my brother pulled up in his car at the end where visitors parked and he had his little boy with him.  Gregory was about 2 ½  and at a fun age.  When he saw me, he came charging at me full speed ahead screaming “Aunt Hairy, Aunt Hairy!!!”  I knelt down on my knees and he charged into my arms with a smile from ear to ear.  I held him and spun him around and around.  He loved that.  He said, “Aunt Hairy, where did you come from?”  Laughing at being called Aunt Hairy, I said I came back home just to see him!

My brother and parents stood in the background smiling as I didn’t get to see Gregory for long periods of time, and then I heard, “Only he’d get away with calling you Aunt Hairy!”  It was my brother who was laughing at the fact I didn’t tarnish the Aunt Hairy mode. 

I didn’t care what he called me, it was his first attempt to call me Aunt anything.  I was full of pride and wanted to laugh because that stuck until he was old enough to say the ‘sh’ sounds.  The first time he did call me Aunt Sheri wasn’t nearly as funny, but was just as special.

I’ll never forget, I hope, the day he came charging into my arms just for him to call me Aunt Hairy.  It warms me, but at the same time I wonder, “was I really that hairy?”