I've never had a nickname. Well, I've never had a nickname that stuck, really. My friend, Mike Rizzo, gave Frederic a nickname, two days after he was born. I've always thought that people with nicknames have a certain level of social superiority. So when I told Mike this, he contemplated the idea with me.
"How about...well, this may have negative connotations, but how about, Fredo." The negative connotations, of course, are that the name Fredo is associated with the movie, "The Godfather." More specifically, "The Godfather, Part II"--my favorite of "The Godfather Trilogy." Fredo Corleone, the older brother of Michael, is essentially passed over as Godfather, and betrays the younger male heir. Therefore the name, Fredo, is often associated with betrayal.
Frederic became Fredo, and the nickname stuck. 95% of the time, I call him by his nickname. Friends call him this, coaches call him this, a few of our relatives call him this; sometimes, even Cyndi calls him this. He doesn't know the history behind the name, and I used to be worried about that. But since it's become so common--as nicknames are want to be--it's no big deal. I don't know if he has any "social superiority" yet, but that's even less of an issue for me these days.
I've had a few nicknames given to me over the years. The first one I can remember was "Scooter." I believe this was bestowed upon me during my sophomore year of high school. I hung out, for a short period of time, with a guy named, Chris Glickman. Chris lived in Hanover Park, a few towns over from mine, and he had an older friend who drove. The three of us used to hang out on weekends, driving around, looking for things to do. We mostly just stayed in the car, listened to music, and talked. Occasionally, we would go to a movie, or to the mall, but for the most part, we just hung out with each other.
One day, Chris said, "You need a nickname." He looked at me very closely. I could smell his breath, which contained peanut butter from the granola bar he was eating, and milk. "You look like a Scooter," he said. "I'm gonna call you Scooter."
He wanted the act of naming to be official. He stepped back, held his hands in the air, and declared, "From this point forward, you are now Scooter. I will call you nothing else but Scooter. Understood?" I bowed down and accepted his declaration. I was actually very excited about the possibility of finally getting a nickname. "I insist that others call you this too," Chris said.
The charade lasted for about a week. No one else would adopt his nickname--it wasn't really fitting, if you ask me--Chris gave up. Our friendship didn't last much longer after that. I don't think it had anything to do with the whole nickname fiasco. Chris was pretty controlling, and I didn't like to be told what to do.
I got another nickname in college. My good friend, Frank Rottier, was in ROTC with me. One day, when we were marching, Frank noticed that I walked like a duck. He probably noticed this before, but felt it was the right time to publicly bring it up. Frank was a year ahead of me in ROTC, so he was my superior.
"Quack, quack," he shouted. "Cadet Fosco walks like a duck."
"We should call him, Duckie," a guy named Hett shouted in return.
"Duckie! Duckie! Duckie!" everyone in formation chanted.
And the nickname was born. While Duckie was even less flattering than Scooter, I actually was honored to have it. I'd be walking through campus and hear someone shout, "Quack, quack!" and know that a fellow cadet was near. Over time, this name didn't really stick either. The ROTC program was cancelled at Loyola and the upperclassmen who graduated were no longer there. Once in a while, Frank, and his wife, Karen, who was also in ROTC with us, will crack out the Duckie nickname for old time sakes. That one makes me smile when I hear it.
There's two more, and they are both "work" related. Bill Keyes, a guy I worked with for nine years, liked to call me Costco. It's simply just a play on my last name. He called me that one time when we were in the office gym. There was a guy there that did not know my name. When he heard Bill call me, Costco, he asked me, "Are you related to the family that started the store?" I have no idea who started Costco, but I just simply said, "uh, huh," and walked to the shower. The guy always looked at me differently after that.
The second, and most recent attempt at giving me a nickname, was offered to me by a guy who's had a nickname most or all of his life. Jason Cooper, a friend of mine from work, is known as "Coop." I don't think I've actually called him that since I've known him, but he fits the definition I described earlier, in my quest for a nickname.
Jason began calling me, "Alfonso" sometime last year. I'm sure it's part jab, part take on my last name. I'm a Cub fan. Jason, who lives in Ohio, is not. When the Cubs were doing well last year, we made a bet. If they went to the World Series, which at the time was realistic, he would buy us both a ticket to the game. I would pay for his flight to Chicago, but the onus was on him to secure us each a ticket to THE event. The pay-off came close, but never to fruition (damn, Cubs).
For those of you who don't know, Alfonso Sorriano, is a player on the Chicago Cubs. Jason started calling me that when we were in Atlanta at a Summit. We were sitting in the hotel bar, watching the Cub game on satellite, and enjoying a few drinks. Much to my disappointment, Sorriano took a pitch that hit him right on the hand, and put him on the DL for most of the season. Thus, I became, "Alfonso."
So there you have it. Attempts have been made, but nothing has really caught on to the masses. I'm not a Coop. I'm not a Fredo. Mostly, I'm just Cory.
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