Now that I think about it, I suppose I’m a little like former President George W. Bush – though not because of his domestic or foreign policies.
“Dubya” had a reputation for giving everyone around him a nickname. Staff members, reporters, even world leaders – nobody was safe. It was just how he moved through the world, probably influenced by his time owning the Texas Rangers baseball team, where nicknames are less a choice and more a requirement.
I operate the same way. Spend a few minutes with me and there’s a good chance you’ll walk away with a nickname. Somewhere between introductions and small talk, my brain decides your given name isn’t getting the job done.
That’s when “Michael” becomes “Mikey,” and “Kelsey” turns into “Kels-Kels.”
A guy named Leonard once spent an entire weekend answering to “Lefty” for reasons no one, including me, can explain.
Nicknames have been around forever. Before last names were common, people used “eke names” to tell each other apart. That’s how we ended up with names like Armstrong, Baker and Little – descriptions that stuck long enough to become official.
These days, though, a nickname is less about identification and more about connection. It’s shorthand that says, “We’re familiar.” A verbal handshake. And that’s probably why I don’t stop with friends.
I’ve got Den-Den, G-Man, JW, Rickster, Marcus, Coop, Boo, Spradley, Care Bear, Big Cat and Jeffro. My three boys answer to Matt-Rat, Schmeff and Snake like those names are on their driver’s licenses.
Even the dogs aren’t safe. Roscoe is Roscoe-Dosco. Reese is Reeser. And our Yorkie, Jade, answers unfortunately, to El Stupido.
I come by this honestly. My dad was a master at this.
The first time he met my wife Carol, she was wearing a big furry coat. From that day forward, she was “Wolfie,” later shortened to “Wolf.” And when he saw a hideous little puppet named Wilbur on a local kids’ TV show and decided it looked like me, I was called that as often as I called by my given name.
So yes, this is genetic.
Along with the nicknames, I’ve developed another habit that unsettles certain members of polite society: I use first names with my doctors.
My older brother is horrified. You would think I’d shown up to a black-tie event wearing flip-flops. In his mind, physicians have earned that title through years of school, sleepless nights and enough student loan debt to fund a small country. According to him, the least I can do is call them “Doctor.”
And he’s not wrong.
But here’s where I part company with him: if someone is about to get personally acquainted with parts of my anatomy that have historically been on a strict need-to-know basis, I feel like we can move to a first-name relationship.
I’m not saying we need to be best friends. I’m just saying that if you’re going to say, “Turn your head and cough,” before doing something that doesn’t seem quite natural, then calling you Ray instead of “Doctor Browne” seems not only reasonable, but polite. After all, you’ve seen me naked.
Out of curiosity, I’ve started asking my ever-expanding roster of physicians how they feel about this.
The younger ones don’t care. In fact, they seem relieved. “Please, call me Mark,” they’ll say, like “Doctor” makes them sound like they should be wearing a monocle.
The older ones are more measured. Most say they don’t mind, though there’s often a pause just long enough to suggest they might. A few have admitted they prefer “Doctor” around their staff, which I understand. Titles help keep the structure intact.
I even try to behave. I’ll start formal, saying, “Good morning, Doctor,” like a man who respects boundaries. But somewhere between the blood pressure cuff and “Let’s take a look at that,” it starts to slip. By the end, I’m back to, “Appreciate it, Rich,” like we just finished a round of golf instead of a medical exam.
At this point, I’ve accepted it. I give nicknames. I default to first names. It’s not about disrespect, it’s about making people feel human. I’ve always been big on forming relationships, and that’s why I do it.
So, if you hang around me long enough, you may be getting a nickname whether you want one or not.
Case in point: just before my second cancer surgery, my surgeon learned this lesson firsthand.
He walked in and asked, “How are you doing today?”
I replied, “I think the question I’m more interested in is…how are you doing?”
“Other than this, fine,” he said, holding up both hands and giving them a nervous shake.
And just like that, he became Doctor Shakey.
At least I called him Doctor.
Joe Hobby is a barbecue-loving comedian from Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog at mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JoeHobbyComedian.
