Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But, names will never hurt me

A friend asked me the other day what WK stood for in some of my blogs. She knew it was a pseudonym for my son, but wondered if it meant “Wonder Kid.” I really liked that since, being the unbiased parent that I am, I completely agreed with the assessment. But, no, it’s simply his initials.

Not many people know that he uses his middle name (they do now!), so I had hoped it would lend him a sense of anonymity.

The conversation did get me thinking about what we call our kids.

My dad’s side of the family is big on nicknames. Good ol’ dad is pushing 70 and his brothers and sisters still call him “Butch.” Can’t remember the last time they used his given name. I had an aunt “Tex”, and uncles “Boob” and “Ghoulie.” Not sure how those names came about, but that’s all they were called.

I won’t say what I’m pushing, but sometimes my childhood nickname, “Grinch,” gets bantered around at family gatherings. When I was in high school my dad gave me an ID bracelet. I had that nicknamed engraved on it. The woman at the jewelry store was concerned. I loved it.

My own kids have lots of nicknames. When WK was younger I called him “Little Man,” but not so much now. Now, it’s “Rat Boy” - he is the consummate pack rat. When his sister was playing high school soccer one of her teammates started calling him “Melon,” as in “melon-head.” He retaliated by calling her “Man Legs.” It was all in jest, and they both still have fun with it.

My dad dubbed my daughter “Goose” before she was even born. She went by “Mumika” when she was little. The origin of that name is murky, but she still uses it on e-mails sometimes. Her soccer pals call her J-Rob.

Thinking back over my kids’ childhood nicknames was fun, but it also had me thinking about what some other parents call their kids – names that no one could interpret as a term of endearment.

Sometimes when my kids are being particularly silly or doing something completely out in left field I call them “dork.” But, that is about the worst thing they get called. If I get mad at them I pull out both names – lots of syllables - and draw the last one for emphasis.

How many times have we been out shopping and heard a parent call their child “stupid” or “idiot.” I cringe every time I hear that. Worse yet is at sporting events. It’s painful to hear and it’s not even directed at me. I can’t imagine what the child is feeling.

Words have power. The old nursery rhyme was wrong.

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