At a very young age, my dad told me that if I had been a boy, he would have named me Aloysius Throckmorton. (I was never sure how to spell the name, but it’s pronounced “Ala-wishus.”) My four older brothers and sisters thought he was saying Aloysius Frogwarts, and he thought that was so funny he called me “Aloysius Frogwarts” for a while, before finally settling on Frog. By the time I was a teenager, “Frog” was the only name he called me, and at least one of his friends called me that, too. When I was 16, my dad took my friend and me car hunting, and while at a car sale, my friend whispered to me, “Why does your dad keep calling you Frog?” I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
I’m not sure when he stopped calling me Frog, but it was some time ago. I never thought I would say it, but looking at my dear dad now, I long for the days when he had more youth; those days when he called me Frog and sang to me, “Froggy Went a’courtin’ and Froggy Did Ride, uh-huh.”