|Bare Blue Stringam|
This duty included attendance at the club's annual summer retreat.
I know you are wondering what this has to do with nicknames, but wait for it . . .
Because both of my parents were going on the trip, all of their children had to come along.
My brother, Blair, was three.
A happy, friendly little boy.
Who didn't always spit out his words clearly.
One young man, a member of the club, asked the smiling little towhead his name.
"Blair Lewis Stringam."
"Blair Lewis Stringam.
"Admittedly, it came out sounding something like 'Blairloostringam'.
But I digress . . .
"Bare Blue Stringam?"
"No! Blair Lewis Stringam."
"Okay. Bare Blue Stringam."
And just like that, he had a nickname.
It's that easy.
My Grampa, George Stringam had a younger brother who couldn't pronounce Grampa's name clearly.
It came out "Dard."
Thus, his nickname. Dard.
Which my brother, George, inherited the moment he was born.
My daughter, Tiana, was learning to spell her name.
She wrote the letters 'T', 'I' and 'N' properly. But her 'A's' had the lines on the wrong sides, thus disguising them as 'B's'.
Her second oldest brother, Erik was looking at a sheet of paper she had been practicing on. "Who's Tibnb?" he asked.
A name we call her to this day.
My eldest daughter was . . . bouncy.
She hopped everywhere.
We called her 'Tigger Pie'.
So much that, on her first day of school, she insisted that it was her real name.
I, myself have been through several incarnations of my name as told here.
My MIL didn't agree with nicknames. "Why," she would ask, "do people choose perfectly good names for their children, then go out of their way to call them something else entirely?!"
A good question . . .