"No Bad."

I just prefer to go by Charles Richard, or just Charles, now.
Here's the deal -- when I turned 50, I decided to take on the full name of the person I was named after: my maternal uncle, Charles Richard Lester. He was a very fine man, a Commander in the Navy and into all sorts of neat electronics and musical stuff. I bet he would have gone bonkers for the theremin if he was still around. He and my Aunt Millie were very dear to me. (They've both long since "gone on to their heavenly reward.")
When I was a kid, it was always a great treat to visit them, because they had more vacuum cleaners than anyone else I knew! They had an old upright Royal (it had a hammertone blue motor housing and a gray bag) that I was afraid of because it looked like a Kirby, then a tan Hoover Constellation, some kind of porta-vac (GE maybe?), a Singer hand vac, and one of those huge commercial Hoover 918s with the enormous, fat pin-striped bag -- the kind you would often see in theatres, churches, etc.
My cousin Jackie still teases me about how when we were visiting, I brought that big Hoover outside from the garage where it was stored, and vacuumed their entire cement driveway with it! With the motor running!! For some reason I fell in love with that huge old sweeper, and the entire time we were there I dropped very broad hints about how we had "only one sweeper and you have a lot of them," and how I would love to take it home.
When we got ready to leave, I had my little suitcase in one hand and was rolling the big Hoover out with the other hand. Mama told me I had to put the sweeper back. I looked at my uncle hopefully. He said, catching Mama's frantic 'NO!' expression, "Why don't we leave it here, and whenever you come to visit us you can use it."
Well, I started bawling and crying, just utterly despondent and FURIOUS that I could not take the Hoover home with us! There was no consoling me, and I stewed and pouted about it for several days.