It's what my Granddad called me.
I have never had the build to be referred to as a moose, or a tank or any such large animal or object, but that didn't stop Granddad. "Hey, Moose! Watch out, or I'll hang ya upside-down from your big toes!" Granddad was always ready with that sort of ridiculous admonition, or a pun or some other sort of quip. Quite the wordsmith he was. He's the main reason I love to write and play with our beautiful language. He's also the main reason I'm still alive, I think. My Granddad believed in me. He showed me that it was possible to be both intellectual and manly, both free and responsible. He taught me more than any single other person, and he did it without trying. At least, he made it seem that way. He left us when I was fourteen. I remember my last conversation with him. There in that hospital room with the yellow Formica countertop, oxygen tubes and dull blankets, I desperately wanted to tell him that I loved him, but my teen bravado wouldn't let me. But I knew that he knew, just like I knew that when he said "I'll see ya later, Moose," he was really saying goodbye, and that he loved me.
Sometimes, I really do miss being called "Moose."