What's In a Name?

Bluffton Today column
September 8, 2010

Sweetness.

Old Blue Eyes.

Tricky Dick.

Big Papi.

Phreenie.

These are the nicknames of legends - Walter Payton, Frank Sinatra, Richard Nixon, David Ortiz, and my Mom, respectively.

I want a nickname. I’ve always wanted a nickname.

The acquisition of a nickname however is serious business. Some nicknames make you cool. Some make you a laughing stock. Others prevent you from garnering votes. And then there are those that force you into a hermit-like lifestyle. I’d prefer the first -- a nickname that indicates my cool factor. One that sticks. One that defines me.

In high school, my best friend’s father, who was also a teacher, nicknamed me “Pita.” Translation: pain in the ass. When I sat three rows back in his Algebra II class, he called me Pita for 180 long days. You can imagine how well that was received. Luckily, Pita never caught on at home or elsewhere and it diminished along with my big hair at the end of high school.

My parents and sister call me “Cour.” Friends in high school called me “Court” (and still do today), but I don’t know that dropping a few letters constitutes a nickname, does it?

Why the fascination with a nickname?

Well, my first name is my father’s middle name. My middle name is my mother’s first name. My first name is also my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. So, it is only natural that my obsession with names came at an early age.

And, what a tangled web it wove.

You see it all started when my paternal grandmother died when my father was quite young. In tribute to her, my father always planned to name a daughter Courtney. A year before I was born my aunt gave birth to her third daughter, whom she named Mary, middle name Courtney. The family called her Mary.

That is, until I came along. Then Mary became Mary Courtney. Fast forward a few more years and suddenly Mary Courtney is just Courtney. And out of nowhere that branch of the family tree started calling me Courtney Eileen.

Whoa. Wait a minute now. Isn’t the first name-middle name combination reserved for ticked off parents wanting to make a strong statement yelling down the block for their child to come home? As in, “Courtney Eileen, get your butt in this house right now!”

Once the Mary vs. Courtney smack down came to light, I made a decision. People will call me what I want them to call me. No exceptions.

So, you can imagine my surprise the year that Aunt Madeleine and Uncle Al decided to make personalized ornaments for everyone for Christmas, and mine read “Corey.” Um, who? There must be some mistake here. Either, Aunt M and Uncle A have misunderstood my real name for oh, twelve years, or they were running short on yarn. For crying out loud, no one had ever (and has never since) called my Corey because well, it’s not my name!

Twenty something years later and I am still seeking that bonafide nickname.

It is important for all of the men reading to note that “Babe” is not a nickname. It is a feeble attempt at showing the woman you are with that you have some affection toward her. However, it may be perceived in the negative. Correction. It will be perceived in the negative by moi. Think Danny Zucko. He was so much cooler when he wasn’t trying so hard.

I was actually jealous when in her early teens my sister Sharon was dubbed “Sharnee” by a girl she babysat. It stuck, and she is still Sharnee today.

When my nieces began to talk, I knew I would get a nickname out of it – Courtney isn’t exactly easy to annunciate when you are a toddler. And, I did. I have been dubbed “Nortney” and “Ninny.” But outside the family circle, they really don’t see much play. However, let it be known that I dread the day that Erin or EmmaKate says, “Courtney.”

But, I still long for a nickname.

Do I have to do something memorable? Lead the league in tackles or homeruns? Croon ‘til folks swoon? Resign the Presidency?

Or simply, be me?

Like Phreenie has. Her nickname happened upon her in the most generic way. Young girls acting silly, making rhymes, and suddenly Eileen becomes Phreenie. We don’t remember exactly when or how it happened, but she is Phreenie. And, today is Phreenie’s birthday.

Maybe for my next birthday, I’ll get a nickname. Until then, I’ll wish Phreenie the happiest of birthdays. And hope that Sharnee, Peanut and Monkey continue to call me Nortney. After all, a nickname born of love is better than no nickname at all.