An Orphan Called Pickaxe

Sometime during junior high school Byron Milanovich acquired a nickname that would stick with him for the rest of his life. The kids all called him Pickaxe.

The name came from the fact that back in those days Byron was very skinny with a longer-than-average and very pointed nose. In other words, he was shaped like a pickaxe.

Bryon at first didn’t like the name, but soon it began to grow on him. When he joined the high school football team he figured it would strike fear into the hearts of his opponents. In reality, a 145-pound third-string linebacker could call himself pretty much the scariest name anyone ever thought of and he still probably wouldn’t strike fear into the hearts of his opponents.

Now he was 60-years-old, still living on Patterson Avenue, and still being called Pickaxe by everyone he knew.

Byron never married and had no children. His lot in life had been pretty much average. He held a few jobs over the years, the latest being as a clerk at Westerman’s Hardware Store. It was a good job, but he did tire of people saying “Hey Pickaxe, where can I find a pickaxe?”

As he entered his golden years Byron would sometime daydream what it would have been like to have a child of his own. On sad days he lamented that he had never had the thrill of holding his own newborn baby.

The closest he came was when he worked at Feldman’s Grocery Store and a pregnant woman began to give birth right in the frozen food section in front of the packages of frozen pancakes and waffles. Byron always remembered that because he really likes frozen waffles

Anyway, Byron was calm, cool and collected, until someone yelled “hey, here comes the baby.” At that point he fainted, and when he woke up the whole thing was over.

One day Byron decided he would adopt a son of his own. So he headed down to the local adoption agency.

There were pictures all over the walls of smiling babies that had been adopted. As he sat in the waiting room and looked at the pictures it hit him: “What am he doing? I don’t know anything about raising babies. And besides, babies are a lot of work. A baby would crimp my active lifestyle.”

Truth be told, Byron really didn’t have an active lifestyle. Other than work his main activities were reading, watching television and his Saturday night Parcheesi league (he was defending champion).

Eventually, he was called into the social worker’s office. He had to think fast, or at least faster than he usually thought, which on average wasn’t very fast at all.

“So, Mr. Milanovich, you want to adopt a baby.” she said. “How wonderful.”

“Well yes, I do want to adopt,” Byron replied. “But, to tell you the truth, I’m not the baby-type. I was thinking of maybe someone a little older.”

“That’s fine. We have a number of children and adolescents who need good homes.”

“Actually, I was thinking a little older.”

“Older? How much older?”

“How about 35 or 40?”

The social worker stared at Byron for a few seconds, letting what he had just said sink in before continuing.

“We don’t adopt out adults. No one adopts an adult.”

“I was just thinking that maybe if I adopted a real rich and successful lawyer or doctor, then as his father I’d be invited to come live with him and his family. They’d probably have a big house with lots of room for me, and satellite TV, and maybe a pool.”

“You can’t adopt a grown man just so he’ll take you in to live with him.”

“What kind of son wouldn’t want his father, getting by on a limited income, living alone with just a bed and a hotplate, to move into his big beautiful home? That’s not much of a son as I see it.”

“You have a hotplate?”

“No, not really, but I liked the visual.”

“Mr. Milanovich, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Byron was disappointed but he had one more trick up his sleeve.

“I have another Idea,” he told the social worker. “My parents passed on a long time ago, so I’m an orphan. Do you think someone would adopt me?”

The social worker glared at Byron and muttered, “leave.”

So he left, and Byron “Pickaxe” Milanovich didn’t get to adopt, or get to be adopted. But that’s OK because two weeks later he adopted a rescue dog from the local shelter, and six months later he adopted another one.  And then he got satellite TV.

In the end, he figured two homeless dogs needed to be adopted more than a 35-year-old-rich professional or a 60-year-old guy looking for a free ride.  He finally had the family he’d been waiting for, albeit with more legs than he anticipated.

Not only that, he knew they would never call him Pickaxe. They’d just know him as Dad.