My son’s identity has changed since the birth of his sister. He is no longer referred to by name when my daughter is around. He is affectionately known as “Bubba.” This was not intentional. Nicknames such as this never are. It just came about in a natural progression when my daughter was learning to speak. “Bubba” is much easier to say than “Truman.” My son was quite resistant to it at first but has embraced his new name with gusto, using it to get his sister to follow his directions and live by his strict dictatorship. He will take her by the hand and say, “Let Bubba show you how to do it.” or “Follow Bubba.” He has found that using his new name is a much more effective method for getting his sister to do what he wants.
I never thought I would have a family member that I referred to as “Bubba.” It existed in the same realm of possibilities as my husband and son attending a Monster Truck Rally. It was inconceivable. It is funny how things can change when you have children. Everything does. It is impossible to avoid. We live in East Tennessee. My husband plans on going to a Nascar Race with some friends every year. I recently purchased a mini replica of the “Grave Digger” and my son has dropped his relatively uncommon, fairly noble name in favor of a name that evokes images of a good ol’ Southern boy driving a pick-up truck with a “#3-God Needed a Driver” bumper sticker on it. “Bubba,” however, is here to stay. My daughter lights up when she hears that name.