Is Your Nickname a Fitting Representation of You?
In the Black community, it is not uncommon to have a nickname. If you’re Black and don’t have a nickname, some would argue that it’s grounds for revoking your Black card. Nicknames in the Black sphere are rites of passage. To many, nicknames are bestowed upon as early as birth. If you’re born with a funny shaped head, then there is a chance you will be called Peanut. Or, in adolescence, if you’re bigger than your peers, you will be named a combination of “Big” and your name. For example, Big Gary, Big Mike, or Big David. On the other hand, if you’re small, you will carry the tag Pee Wee, Tiny, Lil’ Gary, Lil’ Mike, Lil’ David, or the proverbial Lil’ Man.
Often, nicknames don’t correlate with your actual name. Your Mom can look at you one day and say that’s my Day Day, and you can become president of the United States, and yet you will always be Day Day, or Bubba, or Pookie, or Bay Bay, or NuNu, or whatever name you were lucky enough to get stamped.
If you’re a chunky baby, there is a chance your lot in life will be the nickname Fat or Fat Fat. Even if you grow up to be six feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet, somebody will always know you as Fat Fat. If you had an accident that one time when you were five years old, sorry, you’re Stink Butt, Stank, or Stank Stank for life.
Different colors of Blackness also produce nicknames. If you’re of a darker shade, you’re Black Steve, or if your name is Johnny, and you have a reddish hue, you’re Johnny Red. We also cut names short. LaShawn is Shawn. Deirdre equals Dee Dee. Michelle, Chelle. Raymond is Ray Ray. Benita is Nita. And we can’t forget fruit. We love using fruit as nicknames. Peaches and Strawberry are favorites.
My nickname is Bee. My mother said it was because when I was little, I was obsessed with my Mrs. Beasley doll. I always found that fact interesting since I have no memory of this doll that I allegedly drug everywhere and was attached to for twenty-four hours of the day.
Bee, or Miss Bee is who I am known to people who really know me. My twin sister, by default, was nicknamed Boo. She can thank me later.
If someone knows you by your nickname, it connotes intimacy. They’ve known you since you wore pigtails, or that time you were playing in the dirt with your cousins and was eaten alive by red ants. Or the moments when you and the neighborhood kids played outside until you were musty and the sky turned black. They remember you walking to the corner store in Bird Station for a cherry dixie cup and a pickle. Knowing a person’s nickname intimates that they knew who you were then as well as who you are now. You may outgrow your nickname, but it will not outgrow you.
I googled the Mrs. Beasley doll hoping it would jog my memory. I envisioned my heart bursting over our internet reunion. However, my heart did not explode or even skip a beat. My first thought after seeing the fat-faced white doll wearing a blue and white polka dot dress and leggings was, There weren’t any Black dolls back then?
Then, I remind myself that as a child of the seventies, Black dolls were assumingly scarce. I stared at the blonde-haired doll with a thin smile, her enormous eyes, the color of the ocean, and covered with square granny glasses. By virtue of my nickname, I am inextricably tied to her for life. The more I stared, the more I yearned to conjure up memories.
‘I was named after you for God’s sake,’ I say to her through the screen. ‘Give me something.’
Her palms face up, her shoulders hunched as if saying, ‘I got nothing.’
Even though my inability to invoke memories saddened me, the notion of our connection ushered me back to my youth, a simpler place in time.
The longer I stared at Mrs. Beasley, I softened to her cherub cheeks, wide grin, and wire glasses. I found her to be cute, quirky, hopeful. Like me.
Feel free to drop the origin story of your nickname in the comments.
9 responses to “Is Your Nickname a Fitting Representation of You?”
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Love this! Fortunately, my nickname is part of my name. Unfortunately, since my name is so unique, people feel they can just call me by my “family name”. It is with a polite smile and determined look of “oh he!! no” that I correct them,let them know my name and sternly insist they address me by it. Love you 🐝🥰😘
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LOL at “She can thank me later!” My nickname is, I think, a combination of the two letters that begin each syllable of my name: Ven Tress = VT = Veetie, or at least that’s always how I’ve thought of it–otherwise, where did the “T” come from?! Love this post, Erica!
I have several nicknames. Some are fun ones: Auntie, She-She, She, Shasta (because in high school, I loved the shasta soda), and Shasta Pasta Head (because I am silly). My two year old goddaughter calls me “Aunta-Aunta”. Then, there are ones I hate: “Shawntia” and Tia”. I was Shawntia from preschool through high school. I was Tia through college. And it really wasn’t a form of intimacy. It always came off as a lack of effort or maybe lack of self-worth because my real name was just two tough to tackle. And there was that time I truly thought my name was Shawntia. I got used to being renamed. It was like trying to tell people who I am, and they tell me that I am wrong. Then, they tell me who they want me to be because they know better, and the rare beauty in my name (and they do admit it’s so beautiful and unique) is too complicated for their lives, and they need to redefine me with banality. Then there is the eternally ambivalent one, “Pooh”, my original nickname which was given to me by your mother! And I wish i could go back in time and tell her, “not that one!” LOL. But mama says that Aunt Myrtle started saying “awww, my little Pooh” and it stuck. God help me. It stuck. And I suffered through the jokes relating to defecation all my life. Thanks Aunt Myrtle! But, this nickname is incredibly intimate because it was given to me by someone who influenced me in major ways, a person whose personality I’m told I’ve inherited by blood. So, I accept it graciously. But only certain people are allowed to use it.
I have had some success at shifting people to calling me Chiantia even if it enters the ears like static and trips the tongue. I refuse to go by any other name at my job. I learned that I must be patient, but insistent about the efforts of others. I love my full name, and I realize that it is up to me to enforce its worth to be spoken correctly, and it is up to me to display my own worth by demanding others use it. But there are some people who have earned the right to call me by my original nickname because they knew me before I knew myself. And I just have to let them because they helped me become who I am today. And that is how it goes.
Sidenote: My mom says that You and “Boo” are the ines who named me “Auntie” because you both would call me “Auntie Spumante” after the Asti Spumante champagne. And I learned in middle school that the derivative of my name is Chianti, which is an Italian red wine. So, you both got loads of “cool points” because my cool twin cousins nicknamed me after champagne! I have always loved it.
*sent from my iPhone. Please excuse any typos.*
Chiantia, LOL. “Auntie Spumante.” Too Funny.
And I didn’t know mother was the “originator” of “Pooh.”
I loved this post, your writing is fun and engaging! I love the closeness nicknames give you to your culture and family, it’s not something that certain white cultures do which is kinda sad to me cause you miss out on that sense of familiarity. I didn’t have nickname until I dated someone from a totally different culture (Pennsylvania Dutch where they nickname EVERYTHING).
Thanks for sharing this piece, I really enjoyed it <3
Thank you Maria!
Right?! So y’all are responsible for the two nicknames I go by the most! Haha! <3
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