Living Life With a Childhood Nickname

Since I was born, my parents have referred to me as “Buddy”. It was a pet name that, at the time, nobody believed would stick and become my nickname. The name came from my father, who I am named after. My mother called him “Bobby”. As the story goes, my father came back into the room minutes after I was born, looked at me in my mother’s arms, and spoke his first words to me — “Hey, Buddy.” The rest is history.
In the twenty-one years since, I have become known as “Buddy” to virtually anyone that has come into contact with me. Chances are that if you go into my town and ask for “Buddy”, it will, somehow, lead to me. My entire extended family knows me as “Buddy”, including some that cannot remember my actual given name. Throughout grade school and even high school, I have carried the nickname. As I got older, it sounded more and more childish and something that I was too old to be called. When I came to college a few years ago, I tried to shake free from the name. I felt that it was fine when I was eight, but not when I was eighteen. I was also looking to get a career and felt that the nickname was too unprofessional. However, the name has followed me into college.
Despite believing that I have outgrown “Buddy”, I know that I will always be that little boy to many people, including my parents. No matter how old I become, they always have the ability to bring me back down to earth. The name stands as a reminder of where I came from and what I represent to people. I think that every parent should develop a nickname for their child; nothing too embarrassing, just in case it catches on outside of the family.
I haven’t thought about what I will name my children if I ever have any, but I know that a nickname is most likely in his or her future. To many, I will always be little “Buddy” and I don’t think I would have it any other way.