I grew up around the corner from my maternal grandparents and with Grandpa Leroy’s night shift schedule at the police department I was afforded tons of time with him during the day.  Starting kindergarten brought those days to a close.

I loved adventures with Papaw: running errands, visiting with his fellow police officers, going to lunch or breakfast, going ice fishing with my great-grandfather, and an endless list of fun.  It was just time spent with my grandfather.

To him, I was “Honkin'” and until he died in 2004, he still called me Honkin.

Honkin?

I grew up with and around marching bands. In the summers my grandma would secure me in my bike seat and she would ride us out to the TWay parking lot to watch the Mighty Marching Panther Band rehearse.

One evening while Grandpa and Grandma sat on their front porch swing, I began marching around the porch playing an air-trumpet.  Grandpa called out, “Are you honkin’?” (You know, honking on a trumpet!)

Well, I was blonde at age three, and responded, “No, I’m Darin.”

My grandparents were in a fit of laughter and at that moment my nickname was dubbed.

Honkin.  Honk.  Honkaroo.

Wonderful memories of times with my grandfather.