Those who know me now might be surprised that I spent the earliest years of my childhood with only a thin spread of fuzz where my hair should be. Like so:
I seemed a bit alarmed in this photo and I can’t decide if my Daddy Warbucks hairdo or that creepy Raggedy Ann doll is to blame. It could be a joint effort, really.
Since I was a little girl with a gigantic, bare skull and great big blue eyes, one of my uncles started calling me Tweety Bird.
My hair didn’t really grow in at all until after I was three, so there was time for the nickname to really establish itself. My uncle still calls me Tweety Bird, although for years now I’ve had more hair than I know what to do with.
As nicknames go, though, it’s pretty cute. Let’s try to forget that Tweety Bird is an anxiety-ridden critter of indeterminate gender, with a misshapen head and a speech impediment. I’ll just go with the fact that he’s pretty darn sweet, okay?
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