In Memory of Devro
(Feb. 8, 1956 - July 2, 2007)
In his Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare said,
“What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Names . . . we all have one, and most people have a vague idea what their own name means. However few give it much thought unless it has a special significance. Sometimes our birth names warp into shortened versions of the original, spanning nicknames meant to be terms of endearment. Growing up in my family was no different. My brother Dev and I loved inventing nicknames for our entire family (alliterations of course), and that was before I even knew what an alliteration was!
I loved playing with words and the names we created were just plain fun to make up. Our sister, Vicki, was
“Vicki Vampire,” which made us laugh, as she was our older sister and sometimes a little bit bossy. Judy was
“Judy Jellybean,” or
“Judy Jumping Jack,” which suited her lively energy and her love of candy. I was
“Linda Lamb.” I don’t remember choosing my name, but everyone called me that, I suppose referring to my
“don’t rock the boat,” non confronting, usually gentle nature. I didn’t particularly like my nickname, feeling like I was considered fragile. I wanted to be a “tough” girl, like Judy.
I’m not sure how my brother, Devro, got his nickname of
“Devy Duck,” but it suited him, as he was forever charming and loved to talk - a real funny “quacker!” When our baby sister, Loni, came along we’d apparently run out of clever nicknames, as her beautiful name somehow got shortened simply to
“Lomp” or
“Lumpy,” as our cousins referred to her. The nickname
“Lomp” was pronounced upon her head by our brother-in-law, Richard, who also referred to his own daughter, Monette, as
“Mo.” Yes, Lomp and Mo were the best of friends. To this day, even though Loni is well over 40, Richard still calls her Lomp!
Devro and I also enjoyed making up nicknames for our parents. We settled on
“Shirley Squirrel” for mom, due to a lack of a more creative animal beginning with the letter S. Later, after I was married, I discovered my mother’s nickname growing had been
"Shirley Salad," as she loved to eat salad. But we didn’t know anything about that as children. Humorously I grew up calling my mother’s sister,
"Aunt Fruity." It never occured to me that it was an odd name or that it wasn’t her real name! I just accepted it. In reality, her name was Ruth, nicknamed
“Fruity” because she loved eating bottled fruit for her after school snacks.
I don’t think we ever came up with a good nickname for dad, as nothing in our young vocabulary of “M” words seemed appropriate for Milt. Ironically last year my sister, Loni, told me our dad had created his own nickname, calling himself
“Clay!” I had never heard that story before and curiously asked how it had come about. Apparently after dad began working for Won Door Corporation, installing folding doors, he would sell the left over metal parts from his installations to the recyclers. They wanted a name for their records, and not wanting to give them his real name, he used his favorite name, Clay! It was the name he’d regularly suggested to us as a possible name for one of his grandsons. When it was rejected, he took it for himself!
My sisters and I were all given middle names that were reflective of our patriarchal grandfather’s southern heritage. Southerners seem to like to combine two names as one, and we had names that followed suit . . . Vicki Ann, Judy Lyn, Linda Rae, and Loni Mae. We were all very Billy Bob, Samantha Jo, in a Billy Ray sort of interesting southern style way. The exception to the rule was in the naming of my brother, Devro, my parents pride and joy and only namesake. My mother wanted to give him the unusual name of
Devereux, derived from the beautiful French name usually reserved as a last name. However, Mom was worried about the complicated spelling and imposing such a big name on her young child. The only spelling she knew of was
“Devereux” and that seemed a lot to put on one baby boy. Then a friend sent a gift for our baby brother. Having heard his intended name, but unsure of the correct spelling, she spelled it simply, “Devro.” The rest was history. Mom, lover of all that is clean and modern, loved the new spelling! To this day we have never heard of, or seen another, with that American spelling of a French name!
I have always loved alliterations, naming my pets appropriately with names like,
“Barnaby Bunny” and
“Parakeet Pete.” However I also adore names with an added sense of humor, like
“Jack Rabbit” and
“Gregory Peck.” Following in their mother’s footsteps, our children named their pets and stuffed animals too, also giving nicknames to each other, their own little terms of endearment towards one another. Of course our sixth and final child got the brunt of the nickname game, as each of her older siblings bestowed their favorite upon her. “Mckenzie” became
“KiKi” (pronounced Kee Kee), which was the name she called herself when learning to talk. Then there was
“Mouse” or
“Mickey,” after the famous Disney character coincidentally sharing her birthday, and also
“Jo,” “Joey,” or
“Josephine,” with no rhyme or reason other than they “could” do it, finally wearing her down into acceptance. The name torture continued with an imaginary friend named,
“Fred,” that her sisters invented and convinced her really existed. It was mom torture as well when I’d hear her in her room airing her childhood complaints and the unfairness about her world to her only understanding friend, dear Fred. Sisters! Gotta’ love ‘em!
I have had many unfortunate nicknames of my own over the years. My mother’s youngest brother, Uncle Kay, called me
“Linda Lou,” and occasionally
“Linda Spinda.” I remember a big family Thanksgiving celebration in our basement one year, where his nicknames became an annoyance to my budding young teenager style. The relatives on that side of the family all lived fairly close in proximity, and they were coming to our house to eat. It was a special holiday celebration, so my sister, Judy, decided to give me a glamorous hairdo for the occasion. She enjoyed trying new hairstyles out on my long hair. I spent the morning in her little downstairs bathroom as she curled, ratted and sprayed my hair, creating a half up-do with long curls hanging beneath it. When perfection was finally achieved, I gracefully walked up the basement stairs to show off my magnificent new look. At that precise moment, Uncle Kay came bounding down the steps carrying food for our feast.
“Hello, Linda Lou,” he said, lovingly patting my new hairdo flat on my head, unaware of my horror and the painstaking hours I’d spent getting my glamourous hairdo.
“How’s my Linda Spinda?”
Although, nicknames can often be a form of ridicule, mine were always considered desirable, symbolising a form of acceptance. In junior high I nicknamed myself
“Lindy,” after a brand of pen I used, thinking it would be great to have a pen with my name on it. However no one else knew about it so the name never caught on. In high school the boys in the ward nicknamed me
“Nelda,” for reasons I can’t recall. Unfortunately they took great delight in teasing me with it long after I was married. In college I acquired the nickname of
“Cinda,” after a boyfriend read a story I’d been given in one of my classes titled, “Cinda I love You!” Somehow it stuck and everybody began calling me by the new name. Boyfriend even had license plates made for his car with the name Cinda on them. My claim to fame!
Nicknames are still very much a part of my life, having somehow transcended into my present day environment. Thanks to my son-in-law, Casey, some of my favorite things now have family nicknames that have become permanent sayings. Our tranquil living room with white couches, off-white carpet and glass end tables, meant to greet guests and provide peaceful harmony . . . has been renamed the
“Air Lock,” referring to the sanitary feel of a room so white and clean that it takes your breath away . . . apparently not in a good way. After our daughter, Ashley, married, her empty bedroom became the
“Secret Garden,” a place where Casey could hide away during family parties, reading a book to his hearts content. A treasured piece of modern white sculpture, a design meant to be elegant, simple and symbolic of life’s circle of love from the
“Circle of Love” collection by Kim Lawrence, has become the
“Whip Cream Statue.” And Finally, the purple bedroom, formerly occupied by our youngest child before she decided to abandon us and move downstairs to the Secret Garden, has become the
“Guessing Room,” like
“guess who lives there now?” Thank you Casey’s daughter, my grandchild, Acacia. Like father, like daughter!
Today is my brother’s birthday. He would have been 54 years old. Happy Birthday Devy Duck! I miss you now that you’ve joined Judy in our heavenly home. Has it really been over two and a half years since you left? You were always the life of the party and it’s not quite the same here without you. I can still see your mischievous smile in my minds eye, your hand waving
“hello,” your famous wide mouth grin, the “Barney the Purple Dinosaur” voice you’d mimic perfectly, and the barking dog voice that scared us half to death when you’d jump out from behind closed doors. You have always been just as unique as your name!
“ . . . By any other name would smell as sweet.”
"My Brother and I"
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” ~ Helen Keller
