Friends:
No, not new wines….fancy words that simply mean “nicknames” --- you know, the strangely descriptive names given to some of us by parents who, now upon a sober viewing of the results of a summer night nine months previous, allowed as how Junior or Runt, Sparky or Bubbles, might be more appropriate names than Nehemiah or Aphrodite and to view the results of the Law of Unintended Consequences is indeed a sobering event! And if you are lucky enough to have one, then you were perhaps either somewhat of a prodigy, an early disappointment to the family or community, or your persona has given you away.
Take Bud for example. Originally Buddy in youth, it morphed into Bud for more hopeful possibilities. It is the sobriquet (don’tcha just love the sound of that word?) that at one time or another everyone has called their dog --- from President Clinton on down to you --- “Here Buddy, There Buddy….Come, Fetch, Lie Down, Roll Over, Do Business” --- sounds that are remarkably similar to commands given by women.
Cognomens abound in small towns, and when once branded with a nickname, it becomes an alter-ego and follows you like a shadow. The only escape from it is death --- yours or theirs. I have known a lot of folks with nicknames. Walter Dancer, one of my best friends, was called “Tubby” (no, he was not). At 65 and living in Colquitt, he is still called Tubby --- Tubby Dancer. Then there was my Uncle --- he was known most of his life as Brother. And a distant cousin was called Sister, and I never knew her “other” name. In my little town we were all related, you see ---- the whole town turned out for our family reunions. Well, almost all, anyway. Robert was called Jiggs, and there was a Shorty, a Boss, Red, and more. Even girls weren’t exempt: there was Sunny, Bunny, Boo, and Ree.
Maybe the most famous sobriquet is Bubba. This may be the perfect sobriquet, since Bubba identifies an entire demographic genre of red-blooded Americans --- you never hear them complain of ridicule and humor at their expense, but they even revel in being identified with NASCAR, beer, tank tops and pick-ups. Neither have they risen up in protest, hollering “Enough, Enough,” nor instituting class-action lawsuits by playing the red-neck trump card. Bubbas are class folks!
Time will fail me to tell of such names as: Crafty, Tricky (my stock broker), Smiley (he did), Butch (politically incorrect) and Hoss, just to name a few. There are even sobriquets like JR, WB (Dub), and LT (an engineer who plays with rocks and dynamite: LT probably means “light touch” or “lit torch” --- boy, where that’ll take you…). You get the idea and I bet you know some of these yourself.
Yes, in the South one can “get on” quite well with a sobriquet. Why these appellations? Well, I think they’re terms of familial endearment or future hope, given out of love and after all, isn’t that what we’re lookin’ for? As for me, I’m glad that Bud is associated with dogs and a beer. Nevertheless, I sometimes do yearn for a bit more out of Bud; yes, I’m still “Doing Business,” as it were --- less on command than out of necessity. But I am hopeful that the analogy of my cognomen to a dog, as descriptive as it may be, will morph to “Bud --- a blooming flower” instead of a Bloomin’ Idiot writing such nonsense.
Bud
May 17, 2007
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