Forty one years ago, my in-laws named my husband David.  I imagine they were very thoughtful about this name, weighing all the options and deciding that, after much consideration, “David” was their favorite name of all.  It denotes a certain strength, it’s biblical, and, most importantly, not easily mangled.

Or so they thought.

When I met my future husband in college in 1987, he was introduced to me as “Surf”.  Apparently there were a number of parents who loved the name “David” in 1968, so much so that he had 8 Daves in his freshman hall.  They all got nicknames; I think his was the only one that stuck.  I didn’t know his real name for years.  No one did.

So “David” has been “Surf” to me since that time.  I introduced him to my family as “Surf” – so that’s what they call him too.  People who met him after college call him Dave which has required me to think about who I am talking to before I refer to him as one or the other.  But he will always be Surf to me.  And it has always driven his Mom a little crazy.

She is a pretty good sport about it but on more than one occasion she has expressed her mortification at his nickname.  And I could almost appreciate her position.  After all, “Surf” certainly does not carry the same strength and respect she had in mind when she went with “David”, especially when people think I am calling him “Serf”.  I know, right?

Yet, I have always thought the nickname made him special – and kinda cool.  And I wondered if perhaps she could make the effort and embrace it a little more?

Then a few weeks ago we were having dinner with our good friends whose kids are buddies with Chase.  You know my son Chase?  The one who was never going to be named anything but “Chase” because THAT is the coolest name ever?  I even claimed it before anyone knew who Chase Utley was!  He is Chase.  The Chaser.  My Chasey.  Until this conversation with our friends:

Mom #1:  You know everyone calls him Taco, right?taco

Me:  Excuse me!!?

Dad # 1: Yeah, all the kids do.  I even called him Taco today.

Dad #2: Yup.  He answers to Taco.

This is complete news to me. TACO??  I look at Surf, I mean David.  He shrugs and mumbles something about maybe hearing about this before.  He probably kept this from me deliberately so that by the time I found out it would be too late for me to stop this… this… nick name calling in its tracks.  If I had time I would personally tell every little boy who calls him Taco that his name is CHASE!  And if I wanted his name to be TACO I would have named him TACO and…. oh my God I sound just like my mother-in-law.

So there you have it.  What comes around goes around.  Because I never fully appreciated my mother-in-law’s rightful pain, I now have a son whose nickname equates to Mexican fast food.  The Universe has spoken and left me asking the obvious question which no one will probably ever be able to answer:  Beef or Chicken?

How about it MoB readers?  Have a nickname?  Love it?  Hate it?  Does your mother hate it?
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