Commitment to Christ, Doing Family God's Way, Family, Grief

Just A Name

September 3, 2013

My gaze wandered over the ruddy man Mother and Granny
chatted with. Who was he? Could I trust him? Only a few weeks ago he invaded
our family when he married my grandmother, but I didn’t open up to just anyone.
Even at age five, they had to earn my confidence. This burly man hadn’t.

“Welcome, Cindy.” Alvin Cofer grabbed me and hugged
hard.

One strike against the man. I prefered to keep my
distance for awhile, check things out. Could it be that this man was really
safe? Mother smiled, as if it was normal to
be snatched and squeezed with so much energy. He let me go, and I stepped away.

“I’m going to leave now, Cindy.” Mama opened her
arms. “May I have a hug?”

I threw myself at her and relaxed in her
embrace.  Granny stood by grinning and
gave me a special wink. We’d have fun with her. My brother and I could depend on eating lots of our favorite foods when
I visited, like cake and cookies. This new husband, Mr. Cofer, bothered me.

My brother hugged Mom, and the two of us waved as she
pulled her car onto the man road.

“Come along, Cindy.” Mr. Cofer held out his hand.
“Let’s go on up to the house.”

I hung back while my insides cringed. The name
‘Cindy’ sounded uncomfortable, even bad. It reminded me of ashes Cinderella had to clean up. Mother often commented that she named me Cynthia in
order to call me Cindy, but I never liked it. On the other hand, Cynthia brought magical thoughts to mind. A queen would call herself Queen
Cynthia, and everyone would have to bow. Enchanting. 

Mr. Cofer squatted down. He smelled of cigarettes. Ugh! The evening sun brought out
the red highlights in his hair. We had brown and blonde hair in our family. The red
felt hot and uncomfortable. But his warm blue eyes gazed into mine.They didn’t seem scary.

I knew
I’d best reply, or else take his hand. Words popped into my mind, but I swallowed. I’d made a promise to call
him grandfather, but my tongue didn’t want to say it. “Granddad…could you call me
Cynthia?”

His face lit up. “Sure, Cynthia.”

I took his hand. 

He gave me a broad smile and picked me up. “This hill is pretty steep if you aren’t used to
climbing it.” He walked toward the white house. “What treat would you like
after dinner? I have a store full of goodies. What’s your favorite candy bar?”

I shrugged. Mom allowed us a little candy, but not
enough to know what to ask for. Alvin Cofer owned a country grocery store and
he had myriads of things my brother and I never dreamed of.

Over the course of several days, my new grandfather
called me Cynthia without failing once. I’d think about my name and the beauty
of the syllables as they slid from your mouth. At times I practiced with
different inflections. After awhile I
settled on a new way to say it with emphasis on the last syllable. The unusual
pronunciation pleased me.

One afternoon I approached Mr. Cofer with a  request. Even after all his kindness, I
worried. Would he think me silly? Momma would. I could imagine asking her and
see her face grow tight. Granddad  gave
lots of hugs during the week. Maybe, just maybe he’d indulge me.  “Could you call me CynthiAHHH?”

“Of course, CynthiAHHHHH.” His blue eyes twinkled.

It sounded like heaven to my ears, and I danced away
grinning.

A year passed. I thought more about Cynthia, and the
proper way to say it. At the mature age of six I realized that the music could
be found in the first syllables, rather than the last one. Besides every time Granddad
used my pronunciation, Mom rolled her eyes. I asked him to use the accepted
pronunciation, and he agreed. That made me happy.

Even though time brings changes, I still love the
name Cynthia. Now I enjoy its history in
addition to the sound. My new
grandfather died when I was nine. He won my heart, and his passing made me sad. I lost my mother a few years ago and my father
soon afterward. The death of my
parents left a huge void in my life. Their love served as an anchor. In their absence, however, I felt free to make a
choice. Now I spell my nickname Cyndi. It looks more like my real name—the one
on my birth certificate.

Despite the change, I’m the same person, who
is growing, reaching out, seeking Christ.

Philippians
3:14

I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ
Jesus.

Cyndi with Mr. and Mrs. Cofer

 

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3 Comments

  • Reply marla aycock September 4, 2013 at 8:08 pm

    This was a Dear story Cyndi! Glad I know how to spell your name and get it right!
    Thanks for sharing.
    Marla

  • Reply Sharon Rakness September 5, 2013 at 12:53 am

    Enjoyed your story, Cyndi. I like the spelling.

  • Reply April Gardner September 5, 2013 at 3:00 pm

    Beautiful, post! Now I know how to spelling your nickname. Sorry I’ve spelled it wrong for so long!

    You’ve made me recall some of my nicknames and have renewed fond (and no so fond!) feelings about them.

    I might have to write my own “what’s in a name” post. 🙂

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