My father called me "Darling" when I was a boy, and he continued using this Southern term of endearment long after I was too tall and too lanky to easily fit on his lap.

Being called Darling was just one of the casual everyday ways I was assured of my father's affection. Modern day psychologists would call it unconditional love, but my father did not take to psychologists nor to unconnditional arrangements. He had many expectations, in fact. And he verbalized them as often as his terms of endearment.

He also called me "Son" as if were a proper name. Sometimes he would say it sternly and with a prefix, as in "Now, Son." It was a sure sign that I should listen up and not stray into what he considered a wayward life.

Soimetimes he would repeat the words, "Son. Son. Son." Usually this was said slowly and deliverately with a heavy tone of dispair, which was quickly and accurately interpreted by me to mean, "What am I going to do with you?"

Other times he would say, "Let me sing you a song, Son." And before I could say all right, he would go right into singing, "You Are My Sunshine", and I could tell he really meant it.

Or he might sing "Beautiful, Beautiful Brown Eyes" and when he finished, he never failed to tell me, "Son, you were the first boy child in our family to have brown eyes and I truly don't think I can ever love blue eyes again."

Ir wasn't until years later when I heard him singing, "Beautiful, Beautiful BLUE eyes" to my own daughter that I realized he freely adapted this song to the color of the child's eyes presently on his lap. Nevertheless, I never doubted his sincerity, then or now.

I do miss having my father around to call me Son, yet I will always be eternally grateful for being his Darlin, his Brown Eyes, and his Sunshine.