Bye-bye, buddy

In 11 days, I will say goodbye to a friend.

This friend has made my life substantially awkward, but that awkwardness is trumped by the good times we had. I learned the importance of individuality, and that has no doubt proven itself in the way I typically enjoy being a little different from others. I have embraced Atypical instead of Typical.

I also owe my spelling and phonetic abilities to this friend, who forced me at a young age to acquire a handle on the strange arrangement of letters. I've also developed a taste for strange sounds, which is maybe why I think that I sing well, and why I name my dog Flush.

Patience, while admittedly not my strong suit, does come into play when I am teaching people difficult tasks -- tasks that they may not understand at first command. I slowly and empathetically spell things out to them, step by step.

Words have been my confidante for all my 2.4 decades, and this buddy knows that well. My sidekick has long taught me that a word is more than a word: A word means something -- like, it could be Old English for "army building" -- and all the little words need attention too, the same as the weird ones.

My BFF also reminded me early that you can't lose your family, whether you want to or not, because the family bond is one that sticks out like a sore thumb, namely while that thumb is flipping through the phone book.

Yes, I must say goodbye to my dear, dear friend, who has defined me for years and years, who is a huge chunk of Amy.

I am saying farewell to my surname, Harbottle. No, not Hard-bottle, or Hard-bottom, but Har-bottle.

But, as Shakespeare (who I think still leads a misspelled rigor mortis life himself) said:
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

So maybe I'll always be a little Harbottle, even when I'm Carter.

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