Nicca?

This is not the blog that I intended to write this week.  But I guess sometimes the blogs find me not the other way round.

I recently had an alcohol fuelled rant.  What!?! I hear you gasp, you drunk?  Yes as far fetched as that may seem, I admit there was a lot of alcohol and a good rant.

The rant was about my name.  I am not a name hater like my sister, (she hates her name Paula.) but I am a bit precious about my name.  It was recently about due to two men, but has been an issue for a wee while.  One who had only ever known me as Nic who just assumed that my name was Nicole, and another who was a tad formal for my liking and insisted on calling me Nicola.  The Nicole man, unfortunately got told in front of a few people that my name was Not Nicole.  The Nicola man was told on no uncertain terms that Nicola was a little formal for the pub.

Then the Nicola man and my friend Cate who was also drunk, were subjected to a rant in a taxi on the way home from the Nicola Mans gig.  It was discerned that there were three choices for my name.  Nicca, Nic or Nicola.  Nicola was reserved for work or a few members of family.  In fact it is best said in a Greek accent a la my boss.  Nicca was name that my family call me due to my nephew not being able to say Nicola as he was learning to speak.  It stuck and you can tell people who knew me around that time or have met my family as they often call me this.  And Nic is what most people in London call me.  But never Nicky and never Nicole.  This has led to a few jokes.  The rant was quite prolific – the poor poor taxi man.   Nicola Man has now learned to call me Nicca.  But not before he called me Not Nicole for a while.  Occasionally I even here, ‘this songs for Nicca’.  Umm did you get that I called you Nicca.  Yep I heard and my wee heart was happy.

Tonight I met up with a friend from home, who had moved to Bahrain and was in London on business.  It was great, like old, good friends do, within two minutes it was like three and half years fell away and we were back to being great mates.  We chatted the night away.  Life has moved on, he has a wife that I have never met and I am well settled in London.  But it’s like we were back in Auckland loosing pub quiz all over again.  But he straight away called me Nicca.  There was no hesitation, that to him is just my name.  And it was at home to a group of friends who met me around this time.  A few years ago, when a lady that had worked for me, came to the UK and stayed with me, she called me Nicca and it nearly brought me to tears, it had been years since anyone had called me that to my face.

As my nephew was learning to speak he could not get his mouth around Nicola, and he said Nicca.  I vividly remember not long before I left NZ to move here, he called me Nicola.  My heart broke.  He was growing up and our special name would be lost to history forever.  But I jokingly told him off and he has stuck with Nicca.  One night I remember he came home from a party, I heard his running footsteps on the deck.  I opened the door and he came running in all excited.  He had been to a friend birthday party, and his friend had an Aunty Nicky, he could not wait to tell me.  They had a Nicky, but he, he had a Nicca.  Or the time, that he was learning about names at school and told me that my name was Nicca, but that my first name was Nicola.  Or when he called Nicca, kicker, slicker, cause he was Sammy, Wammy, Cammy.

I guess that no matter how old he or I get, I kinda like that we have a special name and it stuck.  I am happy to be called Nic or Nicola as well.  In fact it would be wrong professionally to be called Nicca really, it would take away some of the magic of it.  And I guess that is it.  A wee boy who was learning to speak named me.  He is certainly the apple of my eye.  I guess it is said best by this child when they said ‘When you love someone, it’s great when they say your name, cause in their mouth, your name is always safe.’