Bobby and I overlapped orbits with each other from junior high through graduation. Just after graduation, we lived in an apartment together with some other guys as we leaped at the chance to prove we were finally men, while still teenagers.
He was slightly built and had small, vivid brown eyes. Bobby’s nickname became Mouse early on. An unfortunate handle but nicknames weren’t supposed to be serious business. Many of us were dealing with something similar.
Our high school roster included Squirrel, Beaver, several Bubbas, Jaybird, Peanut, and Booger. By including people I’ve known since, we can add Turtle, Hawk, and several AKA’s, including mine, that aren’t allowed in family newspapers.
Last week, Mike, who also lived in that first apartment, sent word to me and Richard that Bobby had passed away from complications following a heart attack. I don’t remember seeing Bobby since an apartment incident where he put his fist through the living room wall to express his displeasure at still being called Mouse. Yes, alcohol was involved.
My brother Rick was much closer to Bobby than I, so I let him know of Bobby’s passing. Richard didn’t think the obituary added up due to the funeral being in a place where white people, even today, seldom get buried. So he started checking.
I told Rick to hold off mourning Bobby; it might be a mistake. He found the obituary and declared it to definitely be Bobby. You can tell by the information in the obit it’s him, if you knew him well, Rick texted me back.
In the meantime, Richard had made contact with Bobby’s brother’s wife and confirmed he was in fact alive, although he had suffered a heart attack and was still in the hospital. You’d think old people could manage to get real news where the passing of former friends was involved, especially in this instant notification world. We get a lot of practice.
Since no one died in the mix up, I focused my thoughts of Bobby on his reaction to his hated nickname, and how we don’t have that issue much anymore. Today’s nicknames are based on initials and conjugations of one’s real name. I’m sure laziness and lack of inspiration is partly responsible for this, but so is our increasingly over polite society. No one wants to poke fun at a friend anymore and we all overreact to slights of any kind—real or imagined.
I played softball with hefty guys like Plate Lunch and Food World.
My youngest child was known as Heavy Duty during chunky times in his younger days. Now we have J-Lo and G-Mac, JT, AOC, and Brangelena.
My father wasn’t very tall, and grew up with a close-knit group of guys who decided his nickname would be Short. Even after marrying and having family, he remained Short to his friends, and Uncle Short to various cousins of mine.
During his last year, Daddy mentioned how much he hated that name. I felt bad he was subjected to such abuse for so long but worse that he wasn’t able to accept it for the harmless intent nicknames carry.
He might have laughed more often.
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