I don’t know why we spent so much time choosing names for our kids—we hardly ever use them.
As we waited for the twins to arrive, my wife Cathy and I went round and round considering names. If you have kids, you know what I’m talking about. For the boy, something that sounds intelligent, but won’t get him beat up on the playground. For the girl, something feminine, but with an undertone of black belt. No names that might have unpleasant associations—and since I’m a middle school teacher, that narrowed the field quite a bit.
Finally, we chose the perfect names for our little ones…Alec Daniel and Carissa Joy. Simple. Classy. With wonder and awe, I wrote their precious names carefully on the birth certificates and never used them again.
Because, you see, there are these things called nicknames. These are the names that are chosen for you as people get to know you. Everybody has a name; to have a nickname means you’re special. Usually, they sort of evolve out of your regular name. For example, Carissa was shortened to Riss, which became Rissabo, and finally Rissa-bo-Bissa, Girl of My Heart, Sweet and Delightful, Delicious and Smart. Alec became Al, or Alvin Simon Theodore, or Aloysius(Al-o-wish-ous) , which became Aloysius-do-the-dishes-feed-the-fishes-get-three-wishes.
So, yeah, that one’s a little extreme.
Alec was also my Little Buddy, which became Bud, Budder, Butter Bean, Beanie Boy, and, finally, Bean-of-My-Spleen.
From time to time, my son talks about moving away when he’s old enough.
These are just some of my names for the kids. Cathy has her own names for them. And let’s not even begin with the names she and I have for each other. And the dog! Her name may be Mandy, but between Pup-Dog, Pup-Pup, Girl-Dog. Mandibles, and Mandibles of Death (her personal favorite), I doubt she even knows her real name.
What’s the deal with nicknames? It’s simple, really. Nicknames, no matter how silly, have the power to make us feel loved. I have the distinct memory of standing on the corner, coming home from school during the beginning of 7th Grade. I was short and skinny, with glasses and braces—in short, I was Mr. Suave. I was also desperately lonely in this big school where nobody seemed to know I existed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bus pull up. Half a dozen kids were hanging out the bus windows. It took a few moments for me to realize that these kids were my classmates, and that they were calling to me. The word they were calling was to become my nickname for the next six years of my life.
Beaker.
Yeah, that was the name. The name of the Muppet character—the weird little creature in Dr. Bunsen Honeydew’s lab who kept blowing himself up. The one that couldn’t speak, but merely beeped. That Beaker.
Now, you might think that was a tad insulting, being named after a mentally challenged puppet. The truth is it turned my world around. I realized, on some primordial middle school level, that the fact that these kids cared enough to give me a nickname meant that they cared…period. I belonged.
“But Michael,” you say, as you shake your head knowingly, “What about mean nicknames, meant to hurt or shame people?” You’re right, my wise friend, such names exist, and the people who bestow such names are the reason God made sharp rocks. But that is merely an example of people perverting one of God’s sweet gifts. The true nickname is a mark of friendship, of belonging, of love.
“But Michael,” you ask again, determined to harsh my happy with real world examples, “What about when I call my boss a pinhead behind his back? Isn’t that a nickname?” No, that’s not a nickname—that’s just an observation. A true nickname has to be shared with the recipient. Now if you call your boss a pinhead to his face, well, let me know how that works out. Now, let me get back to my thought-train, here.
By the way, God’s got a nickname for you and me. Seriously. In the book of Revelation, God says that to those who are faithful he will give, “A new name…known only to him who receives it.” This is a name that goes beyond the name you know yourself as, a name chosen by the One who knows you better than anyone. Trust me; it will be a name that tells you that you are loved, that you are accepted, that you belong.
I’ll be happy with whatever name God chooses to give me, but I gotta say…I hope it isn’t “Beaker.”