I opened the front door and mother’s face lit up like a spray of fireworks. She pointed to my two-year-old brother toddling away from the front window. “I told Todd you’d be home from school any minute.”
He bee-lined toward me, arms stretched outward.
I scrunched low, scooping him into a hug. “How’s the big boy?”
“When he saw you, he said your name.” Mother bent close to us and cooed, “Say it. Say her name.”
Todd buried his head into my shoulder then peeked at me. I tickled him. “Come on, say Gretchen. Gr—et—chen.
So far, my brother’s limited vocabulary included, dada, momma, and “duce” for juice. That’s it, besides baby jabber. He learned my name? No surprise. I was his only sibling and friend in a world that revolved around naps, a favorite blankie, and diapers.
“Whose your favorite person?” He giggled and wrapped his arms around my neck.
Mother continued to coax Todd whose wiggles pushed me off balance. I plunked down and sat while Mother pried him off me. Eyes level with mine, he now stood in front of me, a full thirty-three inches tall. I waited.
“He said your name all day long. I first heard it when he wandered into your bedroom and he called out, looking for you. Just now, when he saw you walk up the sidewalk, he repeatedly yelled your name.”
“Please.” I begged. “Gr—et—chen.”
Todd’s nose crinkled and his mouth opened. “Baboo.”
My mouth dropped and Mother clapped. “That’s it.”
Her elation made no sense. “Baboo?” I choked on the word and pictured a baboon. “It’s doesn’t even sound like—”
“Gretchen must be too hard for him to say.” Mother hugged Todd. The last time I’d heard her so happy, Father had announced he’d gotten a raise.
I shrugged and left the room until Father came home and Mother announced the big news. It was official. I had a new name. A family nickname that lasted for years.
Baboo.
What do you do with nicknames? Do you accept them? Try to change them? I’d love to hear your story! Email me: gretchencarlsonwriter@gmail.com