In their recounting of the glory days of grade school, many of my former classmates have referred to me by my nickname at that time of Bobby. It got me to wondering about nicknames and why some fortunate people never got stuck with nicknames like I did. I was Bobby and Ed was Eddie and Ted was Teddy and Bill was Billy and Don was Donnie and Ron was Ronnie and John was Johnny. We even had a Nicky and an Arnie and a Georgie.
Some guys lucked out with names like Roy or Rex or Weldon or Ivan or Dick, but most of us had to live with the superfluous and dreaded “Y” tacked onto the end of our perfectly good and normal names.
I suppose somebody thought it was CUTE to add the Y, but I resent that stigma.
I know some fellows who had to bear the Y throughout their whole lives like Johnny Carson (Eddie McMahon didn't have to). Some fellows went berserk like Billy the kid – they just couldn't handle it. Jimmie Stewart bore the weight throughout his life without a tear but Jamie Farr (from MASH) went bonkers and started wearing women's clothing. Johnny Wayne wouldn't let people call him by any sissy name (he finally resorted to being called Duke). But, watch out for Chucky!
I just want people to know that it wasn't fair – people like Rexy and Royy and Richardy (wait a minute – there was a Ritchie) and Dicky. Even Gregor couldn't escape. So, remember when you call your grandkids cutesy little names that they may come back to haunt you later for all the trials and tribulations you put them through.
Now my grandson, Zachary, is an exception (I call him Zach). He'll not have any inhibitions because of his name!
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Of course I left out the Annies and Bettys and Carlys and Debbys and Jennys and Marys and Nancys and Patsys and Suseys and Terries and many, many other mistreated and illtreated and maligned former children. Then there were those special treated children like Claudine and Twila who never bore the stigma of childhood nicknames. Lucky kids!
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