#757: Sobriquet for Jeff

I learned a new word today:
sobriquet. It’s a fancy word
for nickname, a kind of nickname
for nickname. Because the scientific
names are difficult and hard to
remember, people have given
sobriquets to flowers and plants:
baby’s breath, bleeding heart,
poppy (known most commonly
as Papaver Somniferum),
even the word lily is short
for something. We give nicknames
to people, too, because their names
are too difficult, or because some
thing in their personality or their
behavior, complimentary or not,
requires a sobriquet. I thought
immediately of my friend Jeff,
because of all of the friends
I have known in my life, he
was the guy with the most
nicknames, nicknames that
have stuck with me for some
reason, likely, longer than he
himself would remember, although
I’d have to ask him. I think of his
nicknames so often, that I was
sure I had written about them
before, and after a simple search
I learned that indeed I had.
Four years ago, even before I
learned this word, I wrote about
the sobriquets of my friend
Jeff, a childhood friend, known
to my family as Curly. Known first
to me by the last name of McBee,
but then for some reason changed
back to the surname given to him
at birth, which was Timmons.
This confused us somewhat.
So used, as we were, to the name
McBee, we started calling him
McTimmons, and then after awhile
we called him anything we liked
as long as we attached (another
new word) the patronymic prefix: Mc.
Cary started calling him McSeven,
apropos of nothing. That one stuck.
If he was dating a new girl we
called him McHorny. When he
was eating we called him McHungry.
When we were angry at him, or
pretending we were angry, we
called him McFucker. I don’t think
Jeff liked it when we called him
these things, when we attached to
him a sobriquet, and it took us a
long time to stop. I’m happy to say
Jeff and I are still friends. Living a number
of states apart, we don’t see each
other but maybe once a year or
every other one. These days, when
I am lucky enough to see him,
I call him Jeff. Of nearly all of
my friends from the first 16 or 17
years of my life, Jeff’s friendship
remains in my heart’s memory the
most dear, and I often find myself
wishing we lived close so that we
could be together and grow that
friendship again, and I often regret
(although I think he has forgotten)
the number of times I applied
one of his sobriquets in a way
that was not complimentary, or
even kind of mean, until one day,
I remember he got angry at me
and told me where I could put it.
As all of his nicknames stick, so, too,
does this.