When I was little, I suffered from two terrible afflictons: nickname envy and no-middle-name syndrome. As a result, I originally planned on calling my first daughter “Elizabeth” just so she could have nicknames if she wanted to.
Being an only child, I didn’t realize that nicknames are most often bestowed by younger siblings who can’t pronounce your name; all I knew was that having a nickname meant someone knew you well enough to be casual with you. Better yet, sometimes the nickname itself had its own “birthing story”: it was “born” out of a shared experience with someone close to you.
Now I did have a nickname, one my mom and select family members used, but I *HATED* it. Still do, in fact. It sounds like the release of air from a certain bodily function to me. LOL Which I realize, in this moment, is funny as all get out!) But no friend ever gave me a nickname that stuck, and that still hurts.
Well, that’s not quite true. My best guy friend calls me “Sister” and I call him “brother” and, when you were raised as an only as we both were, that’s the best nickname of all