I hate nicknames, as those of you who are now missing limbs after making the mistake of calling me Jenny well know. I am Jennifer, NOT Jenny. Those are two completely different names in my mind, conjuring up images of completely different people. I was very clear about this difference even from the earliest age when I would leave bite marks on the legs of people foolish enough to call me Jenny. No, I am Jennifer, and only Jennifer, thank you very much. Except for a brief period of time in high school when, after I caught a football kicked into the end zone with my face, I became known as Wilson.
I come by this trait honestly. My grandmother, who was given the good southern name of Lyddie Belle, would purse her lips and get a steely glint in her eye if anyone dared to call her Lyddie. In fact, one time when called for jury duty, she actually just sat and said nothing as the court clerk called over and over, "Lyddie? Lyddie Sedivy?" When it finally came to light that she was actually in the courtroom, my grandmother was asked why she didn't respond when her name was called. Her reply? "I thought you were calling somebody else." Right. As if there was even a remote possibility that there was another Lyddie Sedivy in the world, let alone one called for jury duty at the exact same time in the extremely small town she lived in. She was excused pretty quickly from jury duty after that.
This hostility toward nicknames was not improved after I married and met new relative after new relative with the strangest names. I figured either this family had a long and abiding love affair with nicknames, or there were some really sadistic parents. There was a Rooster and a Scooby, a Blake, Putty. David and his sister were known by Jake and Elwood.
Even I didn't escape from this weird obsession to call people something other than their given name. Although I must have intimidated my new family just the tiniest bit with my death glares and threats of bodily harm, because I walked away with Jen. So, I guess I am wrong in what I tell my children. Sometimes you CAN solve things with violence, or at least the threat of it.
But as you might imagine, nicknames, or the lack thereof, played a big part in my thinking when trying to choose a name for my first child (for all my children actually). My husband's family had taught me that whether or not you want a nickname, you could very well end up with one. So in addition to looking at names, I looked at all possible permutations of what that name could become.
Veronica? No, I hate Nicky, or Nikki, or Nyquie. And Ronnie was definitely out of the question. Nicole? Same problem as Veronica. Deborah? Nope. Debbie was not a name I cared for. Isabel? Ick, someone would call her Izzy. Vanessa? That might work since forming a nickname out of that would be difficult. However, it was possible, and Van (yes, my girl is built like a large vehicle) or Nessie (visions of a mythical Scottish creature) didn't make me happy. (And yes, I know these are all girls' names. Girls' names are harder than boys.)
This fixation of mine was not helped out by the fact that David would suddenly make pronouncements such as, "I don't like any names that start with L . . . or D." Any talk of possible names would quickly go downhill from there until we were throwing out names that we thought were really more suited for pet cows, names like Florine, Bertha, Eunice, or Studebaker (Stoody for short).
Until one day near the end of my pregnancy I threw the big book of baby names at David's head and said, "Look through that. Pick out any names that don't completely disgust you. I'll do the same, and we'll compare lists." We both came back with very short lists. Apparently there are lot of names that completely disgust us.
However, even with the short lists there was one name that matched . . . Sabrina. It had a lot going for it, not least of which it was a name we both liked. It was not too common, not too unique. And it had the added bonus of it being very hard to make a nickname out of. Woohoo! We had found a winner, folks.
Only, life hasn't worked out the way I planned. It turns out you
can make a nickname out of Sabrina -- Bina. A name that didn't even cross my mind when I was contemplating Sabrina as the name for our child. But she's become our Bina Bear. And when Bina gets too long to say, we shorten it to Beans.
Once we started using Bina, I only meant for it to be an endearment. But as my mother well knows, once you give a name to your child, it's theirs to keep. They do with it what they wish, and they can be rather adamant about making their wishes known. Sabrina has apparently decided that she likes Bina as a nickname. She has wavered between private and public usage of it for a year now. Sometimes only her family and most intimate friends are allowed to call her Bina. Other times, anybody is allowed. Right now it's up for public usage. At least it's better than Stoody.
