My widowed grandma lived across 14th Street from us when I was little. I used to visit her regularly, and she seemed to be happy to see me every time.
Her pet name for me was Crockett. Even as a teenager, Crockett is the only name she ever called me by. I suppose originally she had called me Davy Crockett, and it just got shortened over the years. That's my theory, but I'm open to correction.
On one occasion before I was old enough for school, I was at her house with a serious case of the hiccups. They just wouldn't go away. She listened to the "hics" arrive every few seconds, and then she told me how to cure them.
Now this was a practical grandma with remedies of all kinds. If you had a loose tooth, she would offer to get her "pullicans" and have that tooth out in no time. While I was anxious to get loose teeth out of my mouth and under my pillow as quickly as possible for the 25 cent payoff, I was also afraid of pain, so I never submitted to the pullicans. In fact, I lost several teeth the usual way before I even asked to see the pullicans. Turns out they were just pliers.
Back to the hiccups.
"Crockett, if you'll drink nine swallows of water without stopping, your hiccups will go away."
"But I can't count that high, Grandma."
"Well, how high can you count?"
"Eight."
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