What Did You Say Your Name Was?

            When we were having children we dutifully read any baby name book that we found, and at their birth we called them by names that we felt were lovely and had meaning.  I think this is how most children receive their title.

 Yet when certain physical traits and personality attributes become dominant, the child is honored with a nickname.  I share some of these without interpretation: Red, Towhead, Motor Mouth, Peanut, Buckethead, Fatty Patty, Rusty, Slack Hands, Pudge, Leggs, Pumpkin, Belly and Beanpole.

            Our youngest Elisabeth was first called Ba-beetle-bit because her older sister couldn’t pronounce Elisabeth.  Over time it became Beetle, then Beet which only I call her occasionally.  Elisabeth’s youngest Trinity was an especially difficult baby and on some trying days Elisabeth would offer Trinity for sale to the other siblings calling, “Who wants a baby? She’s going cheap, anybody got a penny?””

Amid a chorus of “I do, I do”, Tr­­inity would then be hugged and loved on by the other three­ and today she is called Penny.

Once a child enters school any unusual surname may get morphed.  Ruark to Ruarkski, a wee expression of Polish humor: Monahan to Mamahan, the mothering instinct on high alert: Puopolo to Poopsie or Little Poop, a natural handling of this unique last name;  Monk to Monkey, who would capitalize on the term, screeching and chattering, scratching and scampering, and once eating 12 bananas in one sitting.  Her credo was “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”.  She also loved the attention.

Neighbors and employers also hand out labels.  One young man’s first job was as a field hand.  He was thin and sorely lacking in muscle.  As time passed he gained muscle and mass and could move 350 pounds at a time.  His boss promptly called him Hercules.

An impressively bulked up teen was an ace catcher that mastered guarding home plate, and could throw out anyone running to second base.  Needless to say, he was Tank.

Then there was Steven.  He was the oldest boy and had 10 siblings.  As the oldest his father held him to a high measure which Steven struggled to attain and often fell short of. He was known at home and in town simply as Damnit Steven the name his father regularly called him.

My husband Russell received a nickname when he was in his mid 30’s.  We lived across from a General Store and would regularly stop by to pick up items that we needed.  John, the owner, was jovial and loved to greet his customers by name and he knew everybody.  It gave a homely feeling to the place.

He really liked Russ and every time Russ entered, John would boom, “Hi Bob!” The first time I heard it I looked to see who had followed us in. No one. John was making eye contact with Russ, and Russ was nodding and smiling right back.

When we got home I was puzzled about the ‘Bob’ thing.  Russ looked sheepish and said, “I don’t know, but he’s been calling me that for weeks.  I know that I’ve told him my name is Russ on more than one occasion, but ‘Bob’ seems to be stuck in his mind.”

So it continued.  One Saturday Russ said, “This is embarrassing.  Everyone else in town knows that I’m Russ. Today when I get some hardware I’ll tell him.”

Russ came home about a half hour later with an interesting fact he learned from John.  John’s real name was Evan.  The former owner was called John and when Evan took over the store the town folk just continued to call him John.

“He must have laughed about having your name wrong after that.  What did he say when you told him?”

Silence.

“You did tell him, right?”

“You know, Bob’s not such a bad name after all. And he has called me it for a long time.”

“You chickened out?”

“I chickened out.”

“Way to go, Bob.”