January 30, 2019. Playa Royale, Mexico. Nicknames.

We had just gotten into the shuttle taking us back from our lunch at the golf club when a lady called out "Smokey". She had just stepped onto the van and had not seen her husband so she hollored for him. He responded from the front seat to tell her that he had gotten on the shuttle first. We all smiled. And I got nosy. I asked where the Smokey came from so the wife told me the story. When he was going into school one day, a teacher noted his brass belt buckle, which was a replica of Smokey The Bear. The teacher said to him "Now hurry along Smokey". His friends loved it and from that time until now, he has always been called Smokey. Even his Mother always called him Smokey. Smokey stuck. One of the bandsman in Vancouver was called Tor. Everyone called him Tor even though his name was Morris. Morris was on a hike with the Scouts. They had to get over a barbed wire fence. He was the last one over with the others waiting for him to clamber over. But he tore his pants. From that day on, he was called Tor. Morris was not to be heard. It makes no sense but the name stuck. He was Tor until he died. Tojo walked early as a child. He strutted around with his legs wide apart, trying to stay upright. His grandmother, watching him, commented that he was parading around looking just like Tojo, the emperor of Japan. Tojo stuck. At work he goes by Claussen but to all family and friends, he will always be Tojo. The nickname stuck. I could go on and on. Sometimes, nicknames stick. Interesting.