my father's true calling. (that i heard. instead of him.)

Yesterday I was trying to tell Anna about this phrase my dad has used to describe John's artwork...and I couldn't remember it. It goes something like this, "half a *forgotten word* off." I think it might be "buggar." Only, my dad isn't British. It means, like, unique, interesting, weird in a good way; it's a compliment. Anyway, it made me feel bad. Because that little detail is the sort of thing that is going to drive me crazy when I'm 80 and trying to remember precious details of the father that I've lost. (Dad, if you're reading this, please do try and live to be 116--this is in no way an invitation to check out early and not strive to be the Oldest Man Alive in 2061.)

So then, this morning, still trying to remember the forgotten word, I realized how often Dad uses words that aren't real anyway. He's an engineer and could easily tell you the drive ratio (I have no clue if that's real) of a particular machine rounded to the nearest logarithm (or whatever), but sprinkled in with the description will be made-up names for parts that he's designed--in other words, parts that don't have a name. Names such as: whatzit, whozie, thingamajig, and (my favorite) doohickey.

I've decided that instead of retiring, my dad should become the guy who names Olympic mascots. Seriously, in 1996, when the games were in Atlanta, the mascot was an exclamation point with a face named Izzy. For 2006: Neve the Snowball and Gliz the Ice Cube. Come on. Dad, you could totally do this!