Celebrations: Frank Workman celebrates his first grandchild

Frank Workman and Emma

By Frank Workman

A month ago my son Tim and his lovely wife Jena had a beautiful and healthy baby girl named Emma Roo Workman.

Blessed events call for reflection, and our flight down to San Diego to spend the holidays with them afforded such an opportunity.

I got to thinking about all the different names my son has been called.

Before he was born, while just a bun-in-the-oven, we called him PeeWee.

His Birth Certificate says Timothy Marcus. (As did I on those occasions when he took a called strike three to kill a rally.)

As a pre-schooler, he went by Timmy a lot.

Once he started school, he was just plain Tim. Although many nights when I tucked him into bed and kissed him good night, I called him Champ.

Tim was a baseball player, and as he got older, teammates affectionately called him Timmy.  

He wore uniform #20, and was frequently referred to as Two-Oh on the ballfield.

When he was still living at home during his high school days, I would return his salutation of  'Hey Pop' with a 'Hey Boy' back to him.

When he got off to college and then law school, my greeting changed to 'Hey Son'.

Emma Workman and her Daddy

Christmas Eve found me wrapping presents.

The last one was small - a kid's-sized edition of 'Twas The Night Before Christmas'. It was a book I used to read to him every year before he went to bed prior to Santa's big visit.

As I reached for the gift tag to attach to the present, I paused. A lifetime's worth of events flashed by.

FROM   and   TO    read the tag.

I thought about it for a minute.

I wrote 'Emma', as if she herself was giving the book to him.

I took a breath.

After TO, I wrote 'Daddy'.