IT'S HARD to remem-
But at least by high school, I didn't call most of my classmates, friends and family by their real names.
Instead, it was more fun and somehow felt right to come up with nicknames
For that reason, my good friend George became T.M.
Pal Andrew became Poochie.
And good buds Robert, Ed and Mark became Head (short for Headley), Tick and Dungo, while I became C.J., a reference to a random remark a football coach made about me one day at practice.
I'm not really sure why it felt right and like a sign
Perhaps it was a sign that we were all part of a group, buds who were there for each other, the nicknames passwords of a sort that only we could use.
Or perhaps it was simply me trying to seem cool in my dorky, high school way.
Whatever the reason, it was the way things went in those years, and in years to follow as it became a habit.
Looking back on it now,
I'd like to think it was because I gave these young ladies more respect than I gave my young male friends.
But I don't think that
Instead, I think it had more to do with feeling connected and comfortable with my male friends, to the point where the nicknames were a sign of friendship and connection at an age when that was reassuring.
Simply reeling off nicknames for the girls I knew didn't feel as right, taking liberties in a way I didn't feel permitted to do.
As I went on to college and then got into the working world, the nickname game continued.
In college, I played football with John-O and Moose, took classes with Mongo and learned quite a bit from a professor we affectionately called Uncle Buckles.
The latter's nickname had a genesis that is typical for many of the ones I give folks, in that it just barely made sense.
The older journalism professor, who did just happen to have a Pulitzer Prize on his mantel, got his nickname when he came charging into class one winter morning.
Wearing those old rubber boots with metal buckles up the front, with the connections undone, the professor hopped up onto a little podium at the front of the class.
Just before he did, clasps from either boot somehow linked, connecting the boots and causing him to take a small tumble, thankfully with no serious hurt.
Hence the nickname Uncle Buckles, which stuck long after students knew anything about the classroom stumble.
Work produced another round of nicknames, with Steps, Gee-Gee, Jimbala, B.B. and Fast Eddie just a few of the ones applied.
For a while, I was Little Luke. That nickname was partly due to a bad impression I did of actor Walter Brennan (saying "Dagnabbit, Luke!" to a character on a TV show of his) and partly because of my fascination with the main character in "Star Wars."
Or something like that.
It illustrates the fact that when you're talking nicknames, there's no requirement to be based in reality, rhyme or reason.
Many are simply descriptive names or some shortening or embellishment of a name.
Which is why I called a good but short college female friend Little Bit, and still refer to some good basketball buddies as Bobay and Knuteli.
None of it makes sense, but I do it anyway.
Especially when seeing friends who've shared paths with me through life.
Rob Hedelt: 540/374-5415
Email: rhedelt@freelancestar.com