When I was a boy, my dad used to call me "Mr. Bones." I never knew why. It might have made sense if I were a skinny child, but since I was stocky (a word often used to describe Jupiter Jones, one of my early literary heroes), my bones were not ever very much in evidence. Dad was not a "Star Trek" fan, nor was I (and he called me "Mr. Bones," not "Dr. Bones," or simply "Bones"). Besides that, the only significant nickname I've ever had is "Jerry," which hardly even qualifies since nobody uses my actual name (I'm on the books as "Gerald").
Why am I bringing this up, and why are you reading it? Only you can answer that last question, but David Sedaris is the answer to the first. I just finished Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and, along with making me again wish that I had the conejos to make a living out of humiliating my family, the book re-introduced me to David's brother, The Rooster.
It would be one thing if Paul Sedaris were just sometimes known as "Rooster." But the definite article elevates it to another level. He is not a rooster; he is the rooster. He is an archetype. He has claimed all of the mythical powers of the beast and made them his. This would be a good time for me to mention the relevant philosophies of Joseph Campbell, if I had actually ever read any Joseph Campbell.
The extranomial avatar gains even more power when the nicknamed refers to himself in the third person. When Paul says "you can't kill The Rooster," it means something different than "you can't kill me" or "you can't kill Paul." "The Dude abides" is distinct from "I abide" or "Jeff abides." Granted, one thing that referring to yourself in the third person (with or without a nickname) might mean is that you're an insufferable asshole with an inflated opinion of yourself. So, not everybody can gracefully carry off a "The _____" nickname, or even any nickname that isn't a diminutive of a given name.
It's probably also significant, although I have no idea why, that before we started calling him "Batman," he was known to the terrified but ultimately grateful populace of Gotham as "The Bat-Man." What is it about that definite article?
The use of an animal also seems important -- almost as if you're adopting the animal as a spirit guide. (Again, see Joseph Campbell, probably.) At one point, the world seemed to have decided that my "power animal" was the bear -- not surprising for a (once) bearded biggish fella who likes to sleep and eat a lot and regularly maims hikers in the wilderness. I guess there are worse animals to be associated with, but I would have been happier with the comparison if cartoon bears weren't usually portrayed as vicious, gluttonous and/or dumb (since observing the behavior of cartoon animals is the principal way we Americans learn about zoology). Anyway, none of the bear-themed nicknames stuck.
The provenance of a nickname is as important as what the nickname is -- the first thing you want to know after you hear a person's nickname is how he got that nickname. The story helps us understand the person. What characteristic of his personality does the nickname sum up? Maybe one reason I haven't attracted nicknames in the past is that I tend not to stick with one thing long enough to become associated with it. Of course, there's the danger of being assigned a nickname based on some undesirable trait.
Man. Again with my life paralleling George Costanza.
So. Questions for further discussion:
- If you have a nickname, where did it come from and what does it mean?
- Do you like it? Does it, you know, do anything for you? Grant you mystical powers or whatnot? Do you think of "[nickname]" differently than you do "[real name]" as a person?
- Has anybody successfully nicknamed himself or herself (other than, like, going to college and getting all your new friends to call you by another version of your real name or by another proper name altogether, although we can talk about that, too)?
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