Nicknames fascinate me. Each one is a mini-story, a tiny peek into the life of its owner. I asked my Facebook buddies to share their nicknames and received a plethora of funny, apt, and some downright peculiar offerings.
Fred (for a girl)
Spanky (I raised three boys. I’m not going anywhere near an explanation for that one)
The only time I’ve ever had a nickname was during the five years I was diving twice a day in Paamul, Mexico. I was younger then. Oh so much younger. And thin. And adored French cut one-piece bathing suits. The boat captains called me Pan Dulce. Surreptitiously. And, as everyone knows, the best way to make anything public is to whisper in secret. So, I was Pan Dulce for a few years. Twenty-years later, I fear a more appropriate name would be Big Buns.
A few months ago, when Jack started hanging out with a group of three other guys from the local Vetcenter, I was happy he had the company of men who understood and supported him. But, my husband always, still, surprises me, catches me off-guard, and leaves me with my mouth just slightly ajar and my mind spinning. Soon, I began to overhear phone conversations that went something like this:
“Hey, Death! How’s it going with you?”
“Morning, Pestilence, are we still on for coffee at Ricks?”
“How’s it hanging, Destruction?”
After one of these conversations, I gentled up to Jack and asked the obvious question.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Jim, Marty, Leo and I are the four veterans of the Apocalypse raining doom onto the heads of those who mean harm.”
I was sorry I’d asked.
And, it occurred to me that, in so many ways, both small and big, Jack’s world view is still different from my own. Or, more accurately, my world view remains different from his. Because, after twenty-five years, I’ve gone far further over to the dark side than Jack has swung into the light. Still there’s a gap there.
I call my friends Gypsy Jan, and Sweet Linda, and Witchy Woman Ruthie and The Gorgeous Patty.
Jack hangs out with Death, and, Destruction, and Pestilence.