the name game

My dad had a weird habit when I was growing up.

First of all, neither my brother nor I had familial nicknames growing up. No 'Pudding Pie', no 'Kitten', no 'Pumpkin'. For one thing, my name is one for which there is no accepted shortened or familial version, like 'Nicky' for 'Nicole' or 'Sam' for 'Samantha'. My brother is named 'James' and I think the only diminutive of that name is 'Jim', which my dad ATTEMPTED to call him. I say he 'attempted' it because every time he said it I'd get very angry and correct him in exasperation, 'THAT ISN'T HIS NAME!!' I'm sure it was because I had no idea Jim was a nickname for James and didn't want my dad calling him the wrong name, but to be honest I really have no idea why I disliked it so much.

So, yeah, no pet names.

Sort of.

When I turned thirteen, my dad started calling me 'Teenager'. Obviously because I was one, but I still don't know why he decided to call me by my age. Anyway, I was 'Teenager' for years. I can't honestly say I was really attached to the nickname but I did expect I might have it forever--kind of one of those silly ironic nicknames like calling a huge fat guy 'Slim'. Then shortly after my nineteenth birthday he informed me that he was going to stop calling me 'Teenager' because I wasn't going to be one anymore.

I was a bit disappointed. I don't even know why I was.

And, true to his word, he never called me 'Teenager' again after my twentieth birthday.