When my brother, sister-in-law and I were walking around at Venice Beach one of the street vendors called me "Big Red" with a bit of a southern twang. That amused my brother so much that he picked it right up and started referring to me as "Big Red" with a like twang.  Give my brother some material to run with and you can rest assured he will have lapped the block a few times before you even realize what is going on (and yes, it runs in the family).

I wasn’t exactly clear why I was tagged as such by the vendor.  I get the "red" part – that was a note about my haircolor, but I was not feeling the "big" part (although I did have that funnel cake with the strawberries and whipped cream while I sat across from Muscle Beach ogling the weightlifters…hmmmm). 

Nicknames are such an interesting thing.  Most folks have one or two attached to them in their lives and almost always there is a story behind them.  My son Noah’s nickname throughout his childhood was "Boomer" – it arose out of the number of times he would run into things or fall due to a combination of fearlessness and clumsiness (which I might add, are not a good combination). 

I used to call my daughter Sarah "Bratgirl" (complete with the na na na na na na na na from the original Batman cartoon series) when she was snotty or snippy.  When Sarah was younger (and indeed even now with Cheyenne), she was known and referenced as "Sissy". 

Cheyenne’s longtime nickname has been "Lulu", but she has made it clear recently that she finds that name increasingly juvenile.  I am wondering if I can segue her into "Bratgirl" (can nicknames be recycled)?

There was a time when I referred to my son Cory as "Dr. Doolittle" based on his affinity for all creatures big and small and my dismay at his growing collection.  As the creature collection thinned, the nickname fell away.

An old boyfriend and I called each other San Diego and Omaha – I can’t even recall how that started – but he remembers it still.  Somewhere along the line I picked up the nickname Ms. Kitty – not really going to get into that one, but it has nothing to do with Gunsmoke.  Some of my students have taken to calling me "Care Bear" or "Dr. Care Bear" as a derivative of Carol.  I think some of my ex-husbands have nicknames for me as well, but I dare not spectulate here about what they are. 

I refer to many of my girlfriends as "Cha Cha" or "Chiquita" and my friend Amy uses "Chica" in a like way. I call my friend Tam "Lucy" and she calls me "Ethel"…although I have ditched "Fred". 

At a recent conference, I labeled a first-time attendee that came with my friend Amy "The Virgin" and proceeded to call him that the length of the conference in social settings.  Oddly, he seemed to enjoy that nickname as he started to offer it up to others himself (I guess in middle-age it may have more appeal).

Oh yes, you gotta’ love nicknames.  They can be quite telling when they are assigned by folks close to you.  Now as for those nicknames that are received off-the-cuff such as "Big Red"…well, one has to hope that those fade into the background noise of one’s life.  Alas, knowing my brother’s memory I will likely be hearing that for years to come…it may even end up on my headstone with a catchy jingle.  I can envision it now: Here lies Big Red… (I hesitate to complete the prophecy lest my words create a reality, but you get the picture – sometimes these things stick with you).

Day three hundred and ninety of the new forty – obla di obla da

Ms. C