Do you ever randomly recollect some small memory of your childhood that was tucked away in the attic of your brain for 30 years, only to be dusted off and reexamined through the eyes of your adult perspective?
I remember when I was a child, probably 5 years old, my father played in a community basketball league at the rec center. Our last name starts with “MAZ”, so both my father and I grew up with this being our primary nickname that friends called us. His friends on the basketball team all had coordinated t-shirts made up, with their nicknames on the back over their number. My father was given one with “THE MAZ” on the back. My mother was given one, as a joke, with “HAZ THE MAZ” written on it. It made little sense to me, back then.