This weekend, I visited my mom and dad while mom was still recovering from surgery. Last week, a town local passed away from complications from lung cancer. As we talked about his life and all that he had been involved in, I asked my dad about this fellow's nickname, Splash.
"It's because when he jumped in the river, he made a big splash. He was kinda one of those chubby-type kids."
"I love our local nicknames."
"Hahaha" mom called out, "Remember Hollywood?"
"Yeah, she was a dancer at Sivard's Remember Sivard's?"
I shook my head, no.
My mom nodded to my dad, and he told me the story of Holly wood.
"Well, Hollywood wore too much make-up, so they called her Hollywood, but never, ever to her face. Even when Hollywood was older, she still wore so much make up. She was a waitress, and one day Smith calls out her her, 'Hey Hollywood!' She walked quietly over to him and says very quietly and serious, 'Don't ever call me that again, if you do, you won't be welcome here.' So, that was a nickname that stuck, but she didn't like, so we didn't say it to her face."
I need to write these nicknames down. Of course, there's Splash and his brother Spluck. There's Blackie, Traffic Jam, Schmidty, Pierre, Hockey Bob (my dad), Bear, Turkey, Julio, and Julio Jr. Of course, there's many, many more.
Of course, not all nicknames are wanted, and it's probably not nice to document them. The imagination says something. These nicknames bring our history that much more alive.