Chicken Butt

In the 2005 movie, The Squid and The Whale, Laura Linney portrays a mother who, among other things, calls one of her sons “Chicken.” It is meant as an endearment, but – I don’t know if I’m the only one – it really grates on me. Maybe it’s the way she says it.

The parents in this film, set in 1980s Brooklyn, are divorcing, and the story is really from the point of view of the two sons, Walt and Frank. The parents aren’t supposed to be all that likeable. I mean, you want to understand where they’re coming from, but you’re also annoyed about the way they mess up their family.

Anyway . . . we all have nicknames for our children, and they often change as time goes by. From the day Chris and I discovered that I was pregnant, we began creating sweet little monikers for our future child. “Inchy” was one, because he was about an inch long at the time; and later “Sputnik,” as we considered his potential. Once he was born, Abel quickly became “Abie Baby” and “Abelicious,” and later “Angel Fish,” and even “Abeloid.”

All of those I can explain. But not this next one.

My mom used to call me “Chickie.” It was a nickname she used when she was in a good mood, and when I seemed to be contributing to her happiness, rather than detracting from it. In the past year, I’ve found myself starting to use this name with Abel. But because it was mine, “Chickie” as a nickname sounds feminine to me. So instead, I call him “Chicken.”

This, of course, reminds me of the Laura Linney character, and I don’t want to be like her . . . And so I find myself grasping for alternatives. Chicken Salad (no), Chicken Liver (no), Chicken Pot Pie (well, maybe). But somehow -- and I really can’t explain the genesis of this – I ended up with one that really stuck. Are you ready for this? Chicken Butt.

Yup, I call my son “Chicken Butt.” I can’t help it.

And he answers to it! I’ll call across the room, “Hey Chicken Butt,” and he’ll answer “What, Mummy?”

Well, until recently. I swear, Abel really didn’t mind his silly nickname until a few weeks ago. Maybe I shouldn’t have used it in front of his friends. And so, very calmly one day while I was strapping him into his car seat, my son asked me to PLEASE not call him Chicken Butt anymore. “Don’t call me anything else, Mummy. My name is ABEL.”

I admit, I still slip up from time to time. But for his sake, I’m trying my best to play by the rules. At least until I can think of an even better nickname. One that he’ll accept, at least for a little while.