Among the things that I’ve never had nor have ever wanted is a nickname. My first name is unusual enough; I have no need for a nickname to set myself apart from other Arvids. I’ve only met a few.

For as long as I can remember my siblings have called me Arv. That’s okay because it’s an abbreviation, not really a nickname.

I detest being called “Arvie” but must confess that many years ago, in my prepubescent youth, there was one cute little gal who got by with it. Truth be told, she could have called me anything she wanted to. The immature male brain is a danger to young boys.

When my oldest brother, Gerald (with a hard G), was very young we called him Gary. He soon outgrew that nickname.

None of my other siblings had official nicknames though we all called each other something other than our given names from time to time. Many of those names were not mother-approved.

One of my cousins was named Frances. Now she is known as Frankie. I still call her Frances from time to time. Another cousin, Lenora, was called Norie as a girl. As an adult she reverted to Lenora. I still call her Norie occasionally.

One of my classmates, Harold, was simply called “H.” He still goes by that nickname and when someone refers to “H” I immediately know who it is.

When I entered high school I met an upperclassman named Roger. No one knew Roger as Roger, however; to his schoolmates he was known as Moose. It’s one thing to be big like me, it’s quite another to be big AND STRONG like Moose.

For a little amusement one boring day Moose threw me over one shoulder and my sturdily-built friend, Lyle, over his other shoulder. Then he carried the two of us up three flights of stairs to the study hall. Moose had Olympic-level strength!

The little farm town where I spent my teen years had an abundance of nicknames.

As a teenager I worked occasionally for a farmer named Leonard, a tall, slender man whose nickname was Speck. This was in a community heavily populated by East Frisian Germans. Ironically, this tall, slender man’s nickname, Speck, means “bacon” in German. Speck’s brother, Lewis, was better known as Red. Speck and Red were my grandmother’s cousins. Speck’s wife, Lulu, was my grandfather’s cousin. My roots run deep in that community.

My friend’s grandfather, Ernest, was a carpenter better known as Dolly. Dolly had a son nicknamed Toonie (sp?) and a son-in-law nicknamed Boomer. All good folks!

There was a plumber, Lynn, who was better known as Hook. Another fellow, Swede,

was a Dutchman and I never knew his real name.

A large family in the community had four Georges, all with the same surname. Each was recognized by his middle initial. One of the Georges also had a nickname: Drag. No idea of the origin. All that family’s Georges that I knew were good guys.

Later in life I met more folks with nicknames. Bud was a popular nickname 50 years ago. A co-worker named LeRoy went by Bud. There was another colleague we called Bud but I never knew his real name. One of my uncles was named Kenneth but I only knew him as Uncle Bud.

I resided in a rural Iowa community where a popular auctioneer was known as Buck. I thought I knew Buck well but didn’t know his real name until I read his obituary.

I knew another Buck, an elderly man in our church. His given name was Eldert. Buck was an ardent student of the Bible and enjoyed stumping fellow church members by posing puzzling theological questions. I was stumped by Buck with some frequency.

While I’ve never had a nickname, one of my advertising clients in Sioux City referred to me as Dick for the first few months after we met. One day, thinking I really should correct him, I did so. He grinned and said, “I can’t remember your real name and you remind me of Dick Butkus so I went with Dick.”

I was okay with that.

I’ve been called many things over the years but I’m happy without an official nickname. I’m at the age where I don’t need any more confusion in life. Just call me Arvid.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2024 by Huisman Communications.