Did they name his sister Anita. You know, Anita Dick?
Lol nice, and no I did not know that
Here's an excerpt from his book
Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man, which I haven't read in years but suspected Anita was in there too.
"What's in a name? Interesting question to ponder. It depends on your point of view. A scholar might say
that words or groups of words define our identities. The head of a successful corporation might say a
name contains the power of association and reputation. I haven't really given it much thought. So let's
see- -what's in a name? I know. Maybe it's an endless cycle of excruciating torture causing tremendous
pain and misery to a young boy who is knocked to his knees time and time again and made to suffer hell
on earth merely because he is bound to a name that, when uttered, universally conjures up the image of
male genitalia (specifically, the penis, and results in snickers and jeers from evil little children, who so
easily find amusement in cruelty, and who so relish the poor boy's anguish, shame, and humiliation that
he's left only to mutter the words "character building? character building, my ass," over and over like
some escaped lunatic.
Or maybe it's just a collection of vowels and consonants.
Not that it ever bothered me. As a kid, all I had to do was say, "Hi, I'm Tim Dick," and I already knew
that people saw me as a walking penis.
To this day I'm not exactly sure why it's so funny to everyone. Given the male organ's important role in
society, and men and women's fondness for "it," you'd think that, instead of being teased, I'd be revered.
The Carnegies of Pittsburgh. The Rockefellers of New York. The Dicks of Denver. I should have been a
deity in high school. Girls should have sought out my advice, stood in line to date me. I should have
been given the key to the city. (By the way, it's not too late for that.)
Tim Dick. Tin Dick. Thin Dick. Pin Dick. And then there's my Uncle Richard--a double Dick. And he
named his son Peter. Nice.
In grade school the kids snickered at my name the same way they giggled when they had to sing the
word "bosom" in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."
When I was older, my gym teachers- -who clearly wished they were still in the Marines- -always paused
at my name.In class, I knew the alphabet better than anybody. And I feared whosever name came before mine,
especially on the first day of school. I can still feel the old heartburn and anxiety. "Aaron, Becker,
Bendleston, Cochran, Dachman, Decker, DICK!" It seemed like the guy was yelling it through a
megaphone. The whole class would stop talking, and everybody would stare at me like I resembled my
name.
The guys in high school were relentless.
"What's your name?"
"Tim Dick."
"Dick! Hahaha! Like Penis" ? Hahaha!" I wasn't just going to stand there and take it, so I'd have to run
through a whole routine just to defuse the situation. When they'd say, "Your dad shoulda called you
Harry," I could mouth the words along with my tormentors. I'd go, "Oh, wow, Harry. You should be a
comedian. Harry. Real original! I've never heard that one. How about Big? That's a fine Irish name!
Lotsa guys named Big. How about Thick? You're a funny guy!"
For a while I hated everyone and the teasing caused me unnecessary grief. But in retrospect, it made me
a better person. Now I have to thank my name for making my life special. This wouldn't have happened
if I were Tim Dack, or Tim Deck, or Tim Dock.
Maybe Tim Cock, though.
After graduation, just when I thought I'd been through it all, I met a woman in a sporting- -goods store
where I worked. She was mature and had six kids. Out of nowhere she said, "Too bad you don't have a
sister named Anita."
Anita Dick. Now that is really funny."
On a side note, I used to be friends with a girl named Hondaa who had a sister named Champagne.