Selectively Juggling

There is no escaping the fact that families can be cruel when it comes to nicknames. I should know firsthand. I think being the 8th child of 10 kids gave me plenty of exposure to name-calling and nicknames.

My Dad’s nickname for me was Candle Sticks. Yep, you read it right, Candle Sticks. I could create some really cool reason behind the name, but to do so would rob me of the joy of embarrassment.

When I was a small child my nose ran so much (ear infections, colds, allergies etc) that it gave the illusion of wax dripping from candle sticks. Instead, it was a snotty little-nosed girl. I also got called ‘Pig-Nose’ which was more about the incessant malicious bullying by a narcissistic brother. I grew up thinking my nose must have been hideous. I eventually learned that it isn’t!

I think I fared well compared to some of my siblings. One sister was called ‘Crackers’. Why? because when she would run, she farted like a little trumpeter. Seriously, no joke. She would run, and we would crack up in stitches, laughing at her.

Another sister was called Pugsley, because she was a big chunky baby that reminded people of the Addams Family. No, she never got called cute pretty Wednesday, but Pugsley. It seriously gave her a complex. I think it may have contributed to her body dysmorphia.

One brother was called Stink, because he was a bit of a bedwetter. Like, seriously that’s really going to help him, NOT! He’s been on the nose ever since.