Feb 18, 2008 By James Pletcher Jr. 4 min read

What’s in a name? Pardon me for borrowing from Shakespeare, but it’s a relevant question, particularly where nicknames are concerned.

I have a nickname. But don’t ask me what it is because I won’t tell. It’s one my mother gave me from day one. (She also called me her Snow Bunny, because I was born during a major snowstorm in November 1950. But I don’t mind that as much. No one ever called me by that nickname.) In fact, she said some years later that if she had thought more about it, it’s the name that would have appeared on my birth certificate, thereby it would have been my legal name forever.

Fortunately, she didn’t think about it, so I was named after my father.

Whew.

However, I spent the first few years of my life known to all far and near by that nickname. I didn’t mind it much when I was a kid. It was different and it suited a child. Teachers thought it was cute and so did some of the girls in my class. That was okay. So, all who knew me, teachers, fellow students, family, etc., called me by that name.

But the older I got, the less the name suited. In fact, it began to rankle, since I was pushing my way toward manhood and felt it was not an appropriate moniker for a budding teen or young man.

So, I rechristened myself. I was either Jim, Jimmy or James. And, as the years passed, and my world widened from the classrooms of grade school to junior and then senior high school, the nickname came into less and less use by those around me. Only those who had come up through the grades with me, from first grade onward, might still call me by that nickname. I would correct them, and, eventually, even they forgot it and called me James or Jim.

Moving on in life, I was basically a stranger to those where I got my first job, a part-time gig in a local drug store, so I introduced myself as James. And, for the most part, that’s what everyone called me.

I got less formal in college, letting people know they could call me James or Jim.

Then I left school and took my first job as a reporter. Faced with one more choice, what I should call myself for my byline, I split the different and selected James Pletcher Jr. I decided it was not as formal as including my middle initial and it also let people know that I was the offspring of James Pletcher Sr. Many of my dad’s coworkers would comment to him about stories they read carrying my byline. I think it made him proud.

My co-workers, however, called me Jim. And, for the most part, that’s my name.

So, for more years than I care to remember, I have been known to one and all as Jim, the nickname safely tucked away in the recesses of time. Only very close family members call me by that name today. Mom, dad, some uncles, aunts and cousins. But as time speeds along, my family dwindles. And so does the use of my nickname.

Again, what’s in a name? Referring back to Shakespeare, he said, and I paraphrase, a rose known by any other name would smell just as sweet.

Am I any different? No. Despite what people call me, I’m the same person.

And, I refer to another sage whose anonymous wisdom also relates to names. I’m referring to the man who said, “I don’t care what you call me. Just don’t call me late for dinner.’

In other words, who cares?

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.