What's In a Name?

Speaking of private languages, as we were in Joe’s blog, those outside a family are often puzzled or intrigued by the nicknames it uses. For example, some family members refer to me as “Bat Poo,” which I admit sounds inexplicably insulting to outsiders, but it really doesn’t have anything to do with small flying mammals or their guano (emphasis is on the second syllable); it’s my sister’s age-two mispronunciation of her nickname for me (I will only make matters worse by revealing it) and my dad has cherished it for half a century to the point that it’s become one of my main family nicknames. I don’t even notice it, because anything you say or hear often enough tends to lose its strangeness as well as any associated reaction, emotion or power (“Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself,” Hermione tells Lucius Malfoy). I think this may explain the perception gap between those who keep their daily conversations rated G and those whose stockpile of adjectives is limited to the "f" word and two or three others; the former are offended by the latter and the latter wonder what the @#$%’s the big deal?

My other family nickname is Tune, same type of origin, infinitely more palatable; but feeling sure of the affection that accompanies its use, I don’t have enough of the old Hun in me to insist that my family members stop using whichever nickname they prefer.

Maybe I could pretend it’s my Star Wars name: “Empress BhatPoo K’asRol” or something. My real Star Wars name, according to one of many formulae out there (http://www.gorskys.com.au/active/star-wars-name.php), is BaiKa ReNew, which I think is too cool for anything, especially me. Unfortunately I was mentally unable to follow the Star Wars movies past number 3 (I’m numbering them chronologically, modern Earth time; I can’t even follow the numbering sequence the fans use). I spent almost the entire viewing time of number 4 asking, “Huh? Who’s that? Didn’t he – isn’t she – wasn’t that--?” until I noticed my hosts had stopped answering me and were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine which one got to finish the movie in peace while the other took me outside and beat me senseless.

I can’t blame my family for the nickname because I’ve done the same with my own kids, thank me for not boring you with the details, and it’s extended to the grandchild generation. On the other hand, this is a blog, and if blogs have any raison d’etre, one could definitely be to give us the ability to bore other people with details we’d be too embarrassed to gas on about in face-to-face conversation:

Nickname list for kids and grandkids– it’s ever-expanding. Principal daily-use nickname is in bold:
Haley: Ha-way, Ah-way, Haydoo, Doo, Ponzie Gwynne, Gweebee, Gwitz, Narley Horkdyke (from a mass-mailing label gone hideously wrong for which we have never stopped thanking the gods of poor typing/scanning)
Sam: Manther, Mandy, Mandela, Mamfer, Andy, Sandy, Andy-Mandy-Candy, Amferler, Taymo, Sammela Grace, Samantha Gump
Sarah: Sally, Sal, Gumby, Saranna, Pie-Face, Sloogie
And my older granddaughter Bailey has been Pintett since her birth, meaning Princess of the Universe, “princess” being too ordinary a pronunciation to be worthy of her All High Pintetterness. I think we got it from one of Louisa May Alcott’s books. Also Pintetter, Monkey, Monkey Poops, Boo-ful, Foo, Foof, Foofy.
Younger granddaughter Sophia is Phia, Ham (she’s Virginia-baked, sugar-cured, fat and pink and sweet), Hammie, UberBaby, (stood up at six months and walked at seven, and is physically stronger than most of the adults in her life), Goblin Baby (ears have to be seen to be believed, where did this creature come from?). Her parents' favored nicknames are Phion the Pion and Kokl-Meml.

I’ve never read anything about the psychology of nicknames but surely it has something to do with possession or intimacy: to name is to claim – which explains why having someone bestow a nickname on you can feel warm and comfortable or unaccountably invasive. After I had been accepted into the program here, and before I left Holt, some of my dear colleagues there took to calling me “Dr. K.” which made me laugh but also made me feel that they were proud and had faith in me to get up here and do this thing.