What's in a Name?

Poor Freddie Bear.

I'm known to give everyone a nickname, but my baby boy has way more than his fair share. He's Freddie and Freddie Bear, of course. But he's also Freckle. Freck. Freckie. Fred. Fred Pressley. Frederick. And when I'm humming the tune of the Kingston Trio's "Tom Dooley," he's "Tom Frederick," as in "hang down your head, Tom Fred-rick ..."

To Jones, though, Freckie is, simply, "Baby."

Jones can say "Freddie." "Free-ree" is how it comes out, but he can say it. When I point to Fred and say, "Who's this," though, he answers, "Baby," which is also what he calls him in daily conversation.

After their naps today, Jones and I went into Freckle's room. I said to Jones, "who's that?" He answered, "Free (pause) -by" ("freebie"), as if he started to call him his name but thought the better of it and finished with the last half of comfortable old "Baby."

It was so cute. Of course, now "Freeby" will be added to the list of Fred Pressley's nicknames, but lest you think Jones plans to call him that, consider this: a few hours later, we were at the Pressleys', and I said, "Jones, is that Freddie?" Jones answered sweetly, "Not 'Free-ree.' 'Baby.'"

Hang down your head, Tom Fred-rick. That may be the one nickname you never outgrow.