Nicknames are special. Not everybody gets one. It is not something you can buy or order. It is awarded to you like a medal or a dunce cap and the more you try to get rid of it, the longer it will linger. When you get a nickname, you have no choice. You will be stuck with it for as long as the people around you find it appealing, be that straight to your face or behind your back.
I’m not talking about pet names that lovers call each other or shortened versions of your name. When Kimberley and William shorten their names to Kim and Will (or Bill), they don’t have nicknames. It is merely shortened versions of their real names.
A nickname can be given to you by your friends, family, enemies, colleagues, juniors at work, seniors at work, students, or just about anybody else. It can be inspired by affection, admiration, respect, contempt, of just plain mockery. It captures something about your person that people identify with you. It could be a sexy butt, facial feature like large ears, or something in your mannerism, even something about your character or occupation.
I had nicknames all my life. My parents called me
Tawsi (whatever it may mean) and it lasted well into primary school until somebody named me
Sywurm (Silkworm) which lasted until the first day of high school when one of the seniors discovered that my first and last names sound like
Polar Bear. It stuck. There I sat, an Afrikaans speaking boy in an Afrikaans medium school, sporting an English nickname.
But the name evolved somewhat over the next five years. Midway through high school, I was simply ‘
Die Beer’ (The Bear) which raised some eyebrows. As the youngest boy in the grade, I was not counted among the heavyweights. By the time I reached my final year, the name was refined to a more appropriate ‘
Beertjie’ (small/baby bear).
Then, after I left school, ‘
Catfoot’ was born. How that came about is another story. Today, 43 years later, the name is still with me; so deeply entrenched that people who have visited me at my home, who know my address and phone number, do not know my real name. I have received many a Christmas card addressed simply to ‘
Katvoet’.
Of course, the real form of my nickname is the Afrikaans ‘
Katvoet’ but
Cat, Cattie, Kat, and
Katjie are used also used from time to time. I still find it amusing that people who have known me for many years can come to me, very embarrassed, to ask my real name. Such action usually precedes a formal invitation to a wedding reception or an anniversary of some sort.
So, if you have a nickname, treasure it. It is a part of you, even if you don’t like it.
For some reason the angel of the
morning blogs call me
Bob (another nickname?
). So much so that some people on CS thought my real name was Bob. Not So. My real name, when it pronounced in Afrikaans, sounds much like ‘
Polar Bear’.
Have a great day out there, will you? And don't be shy of your nickname.
Catfoot Blog (616)
