Nicknames

              It seems we give nicknames to just about anything: cities – “The Big Easy”; cars – “Limousine One”; streets - “The Great White Way,” Broadway in New City between 42nd and 53rd streets; rivers – “Old Man River”; buildings – “The Empire State”; Indiana is the “Hoosier State.”  Mostly we give nicknames to people – even Presidents: Dwight D. Eisenhower was “Ike” and Texans pronounced George W. Bush‘s middle initial “Dubya,” and the nickname has stuck.

              My name is a nickname.  My mother did not like “Katherine” or “Kathleen,” but she did like “Kay” and talked my dad into giving me the name.  My husband’s name was Harold Richard Clark. He had an uncle whose name was Harold about the time my husband was born.  This uncle paid the baby’s four older sisters a dime every time they called the baby “Pete.” This name really stuck.   No one ever called him “Harold.”

              We named our first-born “Margaret,” after Pete’s mother.  But a man in our church began to call her “Maggie.”  We did not like that name, so we called her “Marty.”  Over the years, she has received mail addressing her as a male; she was even asked to join the army – a request she ignored.  We named our second child “Richard”; he has grown up as “Rick.” Our third child is “Christine,” yet she has been called “Christy” all her life. We named our youngest son “Ned” after my brother, also a nickname. – for “Edward.” So nicknames make up the names of our whole family. 

              Usually, we give nicknames as a loving gesture.  They symbolize a form of acceptance, like “Sis” or “Bro.” We give them to honor a person’s vocation like “Sparky” for an electrician or “Sawbones” for a doctor.  We describe personality traits with nicknames: “Chatty Kathy,” for example.  Unfortunately, a nickname can be a form of ridicule or insult, like “Fatso,” for an overweight person, or “Dummie” to be unkind.  Through our son, Rick, I have learned that nicknames can be the difference between life and death.

              Rick joined the Navy when he graduated from Purdue in 1976.  He worked hard to be the Reo, the person who rode in and acted as the navigator for the pilot who flew the F14 fighter jet.  He had two tours of duty on the John F. Kennedy aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean Sea area in the early 80s.  He soon learned that all the men in the airplanes had to have a nickname so when they were in the air communicating with each other over their radios, no enemy listening in could identify them in any way.  They had to call each other by their nicknames.

              When Rick first entered the “Ready Room” on the Kennedy to become acquainted with the other airmen, the commanding officer was assigning nicknames.  When Rick said, “My name is Rick Clark,” someone loudly spoke up immediately, “Bandstand!”  (Dick Clark’s television show, American Bandstand was very popular at that time.)  and “Bandstand” became  Rick’s name throughout his entire Navel career.

              When Rick prepared to leave the Navy, he told this interesting anecdote: One of his fellow airmen came up to him and said, “I have known you now for about six years, Bandstand. Before you leave – what’s yours real name?”

              Nicknames have become an intricate part of our lives.  I suspect if you look at your family tree, you would find yours as full of nicknames as mine.