For ages, Simon pronounced his own name “Si-moan” with equal nearly equal emphasis on each syllable so that it sounded just a tad different than the name “Simone”. It was adorable and mysterious: Whence came this Si-moan?
Nearly a year later, with Si-moan long behind us, Matt and I finally figured it out. I was pretending to be Ms. Inessa, the Russian music teacher, one day when I called Simon by name. Using my faux Russian, it sounded just like “Si-moan.” A-ha! Mystery solved.
Yesterday, when I drove Simon home from school and called for him to get out of the car, I jokingly called him Si-moan. I suppose I had Russians on the brain, or maybe I was just trying to re-kindle some of that toddler magic.
Well what a difference a year can make. I got a 10-minute lecture on why I should not under any circumstances call him Si-moan. It went something like this:
No mommy. Why doos you call me Si-moan? My name is SI-men, not Si-moan. Don’t call me Si-moan again. Si-moan is not my name. My name is SI-men. SI-men. Not Si-moan. So don’t call me Si-moan again. I don’t like it when you do that. You call me SI-men. That’s my name. Not Si-moan. My name is SI-men….
Ok, all right already, I’ll never, ever (within hearing distance) call you SI-moan again. Promise! Can you just ease up on your old mamma for a bit?
P.s. Listen kiddo. When I was your age and I rejected the nicknames “Jessie” and “Jess” (the latter of which I have since come to terms with), do you know what I got stuck with? Do you? “Ica”. Just think about that before you go postal about Si-moan again, eh?
I ejected Mandy at age 4 when on the first day of kindergarten Mrs. Reed referred to me as “Amanda.” So I went from Mandy to “A.” Funny, now I don’t mind Mandy that much (stupid Barry Manilow song notwithstanding) but that ship has sailed.
My brother was nicknamed Butch by the nuns in the hospital where he was born because he was big and the only boy. That name stayed with him until he went to junior high school. He came home that first day and made an announcement, “My name is Howard and I won’t answer to anything else.”. Several spankings later, my family finally figured out that Howard would rather die than be called Butch. I was not as assertive, and suffered through a number of nicknames based on childish variants and mispronounciations of my name, songs with my name in them (ever hear of “Harriet with the Lariat”? ), and all the male nicknames for Harry, the latter being the least offensive (although sexist) because they were usually used when complimenting my work.
I guess many/most people have re-arranged names to suit them at one point or another. At around 12, my mom ditched the “Hanna” part of her name, which is funny because now that name is back in style. I ditched my own “Lynn” when I was around 21. Matt changed the spelling of his “Garrett” early on. And I’ve got a great friend (Hi Beth!) whose entire family goes by some semi-altered version of their middle name. Wonder if one day Simon will inform us that his name is now “Wolf”?
Maybe “Wolfman”! The whole nickname of the middle name is overated. I’m still trying to explain that one to people……
Fauf is easier to explain!