What's In A Name

How does a nickname find you? Does it lurk behind the shadows waiting to watch your personality unfold itself? Is it given to you at birth? Do you earn it? Does the name bring respect or give you an embarrassing (almost awkward) feeling? Can you name yourself? Does it become you? Is it you?

A true nickname is given out of love. A deep down swell of love. A love that cannot be measured or calculated or even for that matter explained. It comes from history, baggage, a knowing. It comes from a place that cannot ever be uttered. The caller feels it. The receiver understands it. Neither, however, reflect upon it. It is true. Both bow to it. There is an identity. And if born out of love, it is a true identity. Reverence from the name caller. Submission on the part of the receiver. Never spoken aloud. A friendship. A bond. An enchanted space that others may never find.

What's in a name?


UPDATED: March 2014

A Room of Their Own

My kids harass each other every day by calling each other specific nicknames that the other despises. I get annoyed and sometimes come to one of their defenses......
After being outside for the better half of the day Hayden was in the street kicking a soccer ball and Clara was busying with a few neighborhood friends painting and chalking up the sidewalk.
Hayden called out to Clara a couple of times trying to get her attention. He desperately wanted to show her a soccer trick. She was not giving him the time of day.
He then called out, "Clare!" She immediately stopped what she was doing and came running to his side.
In this instant I understood sibling rivalry in all its greatness. A deep , sometimes abysmal, bond that carries ultimate truths mixed with a ton of baggage. A room where no one else is welcomed -- not even parents.
The next time I hear them harassing each other, calling each other by these silly nicknames I will smile, ignore their insults and walk out of their room.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The clock ticked as the raindrops fell, I wondered aloud if I would ever get to sleep. The room was too hot. My feet too cold. I had charted My Love's sleep cycles at least twice through. I thought I had heard a faint cry - a dream perhaps? My ears kept listening. Words and actions jumbled together creating a delusional, fitful state. I had to pee. Back in bed, pillow fluffed, covers arranged, I closed my eyes and tried to feel the sleep. The clocked ticked and the raindrops fell. My ears were the first to wake. My feet were second. My mouth third. "$&^#*@&^!," I whispered (intentionally loud enough to wake my slumbering Love). Will I ever get any sleep? The cries took me down the hall into a bedroom that seemed too dark, too hot. I shuffled around to find my bundle of joy. Did you have a bad dream? Do you have to pee? Do you want to listen to your music? I cries stopped as fast as they started and I was left standing over a dozing child.

Back in bed I made it known that I had not slept a wink. My Love profusely informed me that I was wrong and that I had been keeping him awake with my snores. True anger swept over my entire being. The clock ticked and the rain finally stopped. My mind bent itself around the smell of coffee. At least I had coffee. I charted a few more of My Love's sleep cycles and then I was falling, falling, falling fast asleep. The dawn came to early when I was honestly informed that it was my turn to go get our wonderful bundle of joy. Remembering that I had been out running the morning prior, I tried to hold my tongue (so hard for me between the hours of 11pm and 6am) as I begrudgingly walked down the hall into our daughter's bedroom.

"Hi, Mom. Do you want to play?"
"Yes, I want to play."

The clock ticked, the rain started to fall  and we played until the rest of the house woke.  My eyes were heavy when I finally served breakfast. I'll sleep when I'm dead, I thought. In the meantime, a hot shower, a hug and a few cups of coffee will probably do the trick. Thankfully My Love knows how to forgive and I know how to forget so we move on - until the next night. ***



***I'm not an insomniac. I really sleep quite well. It's when sleep can't seem to find me that I get pretty irritated. Be glad you are not My Love.