Some years ago, at my then ten-year high school reunion, a classmate named Ernie made a startling announcement: “I’m a grandpa!” Everybody quickly did the math. The guy had just turned 28. How could he have pulled off the grandpa thing? Had he been secretly married in the 7th grade---and we never noticed it?

No.

It turned out that Ernie had gotten married just weeks before the school reunion to a woman thirty years older. So since she had an adult son---who himself had a son---Ernie had become an instant gramps.
Frankly, it seemed like cheating---like claiming to have won a stockcar race while hiding in the trunk. But Ernie was too jubilant for anyone to rain on his NASCAR.

In a way, it was a time of triumph for Ernie---who very few in our class ever knew by that name. Since grade school, Ernie had always been better known by the handle “Doofus.” He always claimed it was a word meaning “one with a desire for self-expression.” Self-delusion, perhaps.

But Ernie never seemed to mind the seemingly mean-spirited nickname. “It could be worse,” he said to another classmate, “Dorkus”Williamson.

Nicknames were commonplace when I was a kid. But no one started out that way---alternate names were acquired along life’s path.

My four brothers and I had well-worn and traditional given names: Joseph, Daniel, William, Patrick, Etc. (Etc was named after an uncle. Ironically, he later married a woman named Ergo.)

Our mother gave birth to the five of us all in a row and then called it quits. She didn’t mind having the first boy---me. Even the second newborn was fine. But the third annoyed her---she wanted a girl. After the next kid came along, she figured she was due---like a hitter about to break out of an 0 for 4 slump.
In fact, she was so certain the fifth child was going to be a girl that she bought a Barbie doll for her. Dad bought a G.I. Joe. He won.

Our parents had a formula for naming their kids. They would look at each of us for a few days and think it over.

“He sort of looks like a Chuck,” my dad said when one of my brothers was born.

“Yea, he does right now,” my mom replied. “But a week from now I’ll bet he looks like a Walter.”

They finally reached a compromise and named him Terry. But most people think Terry looks like a Walter. Or a Chuck.

In the olden days (when an I-Pod simply referred to a group of ‘me first’ whales)---kids were generally named after older relatives. Boys had names like Henry, Edward, Donald and George. The girls were named Florence, Mabel, Bertha, Clara, Dorothy and Mildred.

Would Britney Spears have made it if she were named Mildred Spears? Or Hortense Spears? Of course, if she were Asparagus Spears, vegans would flock to her concerts.

When our daughter was born we thought about giving her one of those ‘ity’ names. Chastity was considered---but my wife thought it sounded more like a suggestion than a name. Charity and Felicity were shot down for the same reason---along with Veracity, Tenacity, Velocity and Synchronicity.

What about descriptive names like we read in the history books: Alexander the Great, for example?

Maybe Alexander’s parents added ‘the Great’ part so he’d have something to live up to. If so, what could Ivan the Terrible’s parents have been thinking?

For that matter, Pliny the Elder seems like an odd name for a newborn. Elder than whom?

For all I know, maybe that’s the way everyday people identified each other in ancient times:
“Hey, Farley the Knock-kneed! Where’s Phyllis the Irritable?”

“Hi there, Milton the Inquisitive! I saw Phyllis down by the well with Thaddeus the Thirsty.”

Today, the age of nicknames, especially for male kids like Ernie/Doofus, is on the wane. Gone are the “Lugnuts, Eggheads, Slims, Shorties, Stretches, Chips, Buzzes” and “Shovel-faces” of the world. I’m blinking back tears.

Times have changed, people are more sensitive---and nicknames are disappearing, perhaps because they “nick” self-esteem so cruelly. But personally, I miss the old politically questionable names. Except for mine: Fat Trashcan.

This reminds me of our cousin Tim whom the kids always called “Four Eyes.” My dad said it was because he wore glasses.

I think it was because he had four eyes.

pat@patcashman.com
Pat can be seen on the TV sketch show “Up Late NW” airing on KING 5 Saturdays at 1:00am and Sundays at 11:30pm---and also seen throughout Washington and Oregon. Plus he co-hosts a weekly on-line talk show: Peculiarpodcast.com