Sunday, December 6, 2015

Sticks and Stone May Break My Bones, but Names Will Never Hurt Me



I always thought is was just our crew in the neighborhood where everyone had a nickname. I found out as my world expanded to include school, others too had them. Most nicknames were indicative of some particular trait about the person, others meaningless and others just plain mean spirited.

I'll start with my own, Barroter. You pronounce it like this “buh-RAH-tah.” I won that name when I was four years old, given to me by the only boy of the Mayor of Pawtucket, who lived next door.

For years I pestered people to explain what it meant. No one knew or if they knew, didn't tell me to infuriate me. I finally did get an explanation from the two single brothers who lived on the corner of our street, whose name we perverted from “the Dempsey's” to the sillier sounding “Dumpseys.”

I do not remember this but many others have confirmed it. Waaaay back then, when you could let your kids roam without harm and leave your doors unlocked, I would like to invite myself into other's homes to say “Hi” or just hang out. No knock, no doorbell, I'd just let myself in. One lady was finishing up her shower when I yelled “HI” to her, startling the hell out of her in her oversized towel.

Finally, one neighbor led me home to deposit me where I belonged, telling my Mom, jokingly, I was a “marauder.” This story made its way around the neighborhood and “Red,” the boy-son of the Mayor noticed that I had a horrible time of trying to say the word “marauder.” He kept ribbing me to say it right and when you're 4 years old, you take up the challenge.

Do you know how hard it is to speak English when half your teeth are missing? I was that kind of kid then, even my baby teeth were falling out or more generally pulled out. I said the word “three” as “free” because you can't make the “th” sound w/o your front two teeth, so you wing it as close as you can. Blame lousy Irish tooth genes, and probably candy and soda.

“Marauder” came out of my mouth with a “b” sounding first letter. I don't know what the hell I was thinking or trying to do while trying to say “m.”

“Mmm-Barauder.” I said perhaps?

Anyway, the crew of kids standing there, egged on by the Mayor's son, laughed. For days after, he would call me Barroter and then wrote it in the sand. That's how I know the spelling of my nickname!

I'm 51 now and still they call me Barroter.

“”Red” who I mentioned, lived next door was the son of Robert Burns, a one or two time mayor of Pawtucket then. Red, you can guess, had this pile of deep auburn reddish hair and one of those red freckled spotted faces. When angry, his face was the color of blood.

My brother's nickname was “May.” It had nothing to do with the month, just the first syllable of our last name. Kinda boring I think.

“Ears” was a kid down the street who had Dumbo type ears that really stuck out. In 1972, his Dad won a small lottery and paid to have some plastic surgery done to crop them back. We further tormented him by changing his nick to “Crop,” but it never did last beyond a year.

“Ricardo Mental Bomb,” (Richardo Montalban) was this kid, who I didn't realize then, but suspected a bit, who wasn't entirely wrapped too tight. The older kids on our street would comment on his weird, sadistic nature and penchant for cruelly executing bugs he captured.

I will say they might have been right to name him this. One time, I overheard his own mother chewing him out for stealing out the coin jar, to buy candy. “You're NO GOOD! We TRY with you! There's always something WRONG with you!” At nine years old, I began to suspect that this kid's Mom may have been right, this kid did have a hint of evil in him.

“Runty,” wasn't a runt at all. He was one of those boys that had pecs and that typical He Man triangular shape to his upper bodybefore he hit puberty. I suppose he could pose for a Beefcake calendar at the age of ten. He had a twin brother, Pork Chop and I can't for the life of me figure out why they named him that. I figured it was his desire to eat pork?

“Keen-Eyes” was a family on the other street where all the kids have the same shaped eyes. They weren't misshapen nor disfigured but was one of those instances where a family trait was startlingly shared by all. It would be like a family that all shared the same giant nose, blond hair or some other feature that identified them from that clan.

“Dirt Bomb” was a close friend of my brother. He came from a giant, Irish bruiser type family. He would back you up in any fight, even if it meant he'd lose. No matter, I think he enjoyed it. His particular trait was that he was dirty nearly 99% of the time. His hair was a mess, his face covered in dirt, paint, grease whatnot and the clothing he wore, was once clean when he put it on but a few hours later it too was covered in the same stuff that was on his face. The shocker for me was when he became an altar boy. He would come over to our house after service and was still clean. I guess his parents and the parish priest ordered him to remain somewhat decent for those few hours only.

“Stinky Midget.” Now that was a mean one. Stinky was the father of one of us who unfortunately was one of those men who never grew past five foot two. He perpetually wore a green Dickie uniform that made him look like a janitor. If you got close to him, he had a miasma that reminded you of mildew, foul cigars and sweat. He'd drive by in his giant Cadillac when coming home from work and of course, we brats would yell out, Stinky! Stinky Midget! God, you cannot get away with this in today's world, huh? This would be called a micro-aggression and all of us kids would be in therapy.

“Herr Himmler” was an innocent neighbor across the street. When we found out he married a German wife and his back story of helping WW2 German civilians immigrate to Rhode Island after the war, we slapped the moniker of ex-Nazi upon him. Unfair? Yes. But we couldn't help but to fantasize silly stories about him and how he harbored the last of the Nazi circle in his cellar. It didn't help that we saw him drink beer out of beer stein the size of a fire hydrant at times. Every summer, he'd be on his front steps with this beer mug that looked like it was carved in manner similar to a Bavarian cuckoo clock.

In truth, he was really a nice guy. I attended his funeral a few years back and listened to a eulogy done by Alois Adenaur, who nearly was crying when he recounted the story of how “Himmler,” after WW2, sponsored a bunch of German families to come over to the US to start their lives anew. Germany was smashed to pieces back then, life sucked. He brought some out.

I just thought of this one. My own Mom had a nickname that wasn't given to her by her own sons. The other kids in the neighborhood had done it, “Goddammit Edith”

You have to be a person of the 70's to get it. “All in the Family” was the most popular show on and one character, Edith Bunker, was this well meaning, compassionate but ignorant housewife. Archie Bunker was forever berating her for not taking things on the uptake quick enough. My brother and I would laugh to tears when some kids would mimic our Dad bitching our Mom out with the Archie Bunker voice.

It was overblown but there was a seed of truth in it.

Who other people, families did we rearrange the names? The Wompsleys, Schlutzs, The Classless-ies, Dumpsey's, the Nymphomaniacs (I'd love to tell you the derivation of that one, but they read this blog!).

I hate to say it, but by our teens, we boys, misogynistic as we were, nicknamed the girls according to their quickness with their sexual favors. That was balanced out though, by the girls naming the boys in a similar fashion too.

“End Table” was a short girl. End tables are used for placing lamps, books, beers upon. The joke was she was so short, she could give oral while you placed a beer can on her head.

“Lisa Wouldn't” This was a play on her last name of “Wood.” I can get away with this one because she's long since gone. Lisa needed a diamond ring on that finger before she gave away the store.

“Gator Mouth,” I leave that to you to figure out.

“Vise Grip.” I leave that to you to figure out as well. This girl had pelvic muscles that could crack a chestnut. There, I told you anyway.

“Crest or Colgate.” This girl had a toothbrush and tube paste at the ready. She carried it in her little purse 24/7.

“Mousetrap.” I won't name him because guys are really easily embarrassed by how quick they orgasm. He unfortunately would go off like a mousetrap if a girl touched him.

“Wet Bamboo.” Poor Bamboo...even as a teen boy he couldn't get fully hard as the girls said. I guess he'd be 80% of the way there, but like bamboo, it sways this way and that.

“Ah-ten-HUT!” That came from those old WW2 movies where an officer came into the room and someone would yell out “A ten HUT” (a mangled “attention!”) as message for all the enlisted to stand at attention. The girls sometimes feared Ah-ten-HUT, because apparently he, an Italian of course, had a dick the size of a log. I guess the girls figured they had to stand at attention and salute if he came into the room, out of respect.

I too, once had a sexual nickname. God...dare I tell it? Jesus...do I crucify my own self in this story? Do I let that cat out of the bag?

Well, when your a teen, your health is excellent. Everything works. You bleed easy and clot easy. You can race your heart up to 200 bpm w/o any fear of a heart attack. You're made of rubber and can bounce if you fall. Also, because your so young and healthy you can fill up an 8oz glass if...

8oz Glass. I'm lucky the nickname Barroter stuck with me for 50 something years, instead of the other

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