Either I mumble a lot or “Bethany” is a hard name to pronounce. (Perhaps both.) But it’s pretty routine for people to think my name is either “Stephanie” or “Tiffany.” Sometimes they even think I said “Brittany,” although I’m not sure where they’re getting the “r” from. I’ve gotten to the point now where if someone asks my first name, I just spell half of it: “B as in ‘boy,’ E, T as in ‘Tom,’ H, A, N as in ‘Nancy,’ Y.” I have to spell my last name too because people always think I said “beans” instead of “beams.” I used to say, “Beams, as in sunbeams, not as in green beans,” but multiple people just stared blankly at me, so now I don’t. Maybe they were thinking, “Sun beans? What are those?”
(As an aside, my sister’s name is Brynna, pronounced like it looks. Bryn-na. I don’t feel like it’s that hard. But she gets Bryan, BrEYEna, BrEEna and, best of all, Breneisha. I think I’m spelling that last one correctly, but it’s difficult to know.)
I was almost named Candace or Summer. I can sort of see myself as a Summer but certainly not as a Candace. At least not a Candace with a “C”. I don’t know why. But my parents settled on Bethany Ruth. They chose “Bethany” because it is the city in the Bible where Jesus’ best friends lived (Mary, Martha, & Lazarus), certainly not because of its actual meaning in Hebrew, which is – depending on translation – “house of figs,” “house of dates,” or “house of sorrow.” Yikes. (Although I did always sort of like “house of dates,” particularly when all the boys were fighting each other to go out with me. Ha ha, that never happened. Ever.) And they chose “Ruth” because two of my great-grandmothers were both named Ruth Jones, as well as because the Ruth in the Bible is a strong, loyal, God-fearing woman.
One of my first nicknames to stick was Bethie Ruthie. It’s sort of an obvious one, I think. My parents used to come in to get me up in the morning for school and say, “Wakey, wakey, Bethie Ruthie!” This was a great phrase because it could start out sounding all cheery and bright, but by the fourth or fifth time they came in because I WOULD NOT GET OUT OF BED, a simple shift in tone of voice and a slight clenching of teeth could make it sound threatening and scary. Try it – you’ll see what I mean.
My first self-imposed nickname came fairly early in my life, when I decided that, from now on, I would only answer to Baga Piggy. Yes, friends. I don’t know what it means, or from whence it came, only that I am glad it did not stick around. Baga Piggy? What in the world is that?!
Many people with whom I grew up call me Biscuit. The youth pastor at our church wrote a serial story for the youth group in which they – and most of the children and other involved congregants – were characters. My parents were the King and Queen in the fictional land of Ur, and my name was Biscuit. I honestly am not sure if the nickname came before the character or after it, and why it was bestowed upon me by Jess. (I’m sure one of my parents, or maybe Jess himself, will comment on this post and explain further.) But when I went to Texas this past spring, at almost 30, multiple people greeted me by saying, “Hey, Biscuit!” So I think this is one I won’t outlive. I’m okay with that.
I distinctly remember being called Sassafras by a woman with curly hair who was a friend of my friend, Ann. In the memory, we are at the pool at the Y in the summer, and she had decided I should be called Sassafras. Maybe it was my hair, or maybe it was my attitude: who knows? (Of course, it’s possible this friend-of-a-friend doesn’t even exist in reality. I have quite a few memories like that. But I’m almost positive she does.)
Once we moved to Austin, some of my girlfriends and I had a club in which we all called each other by repetitions of the first syllable of our name. I was Beth-Beth, and other members included Rob-Rob (Robin), Jul-Jul (Julia), Kim-Kim (well, her name was Kim, so…), and maybe some other people. I don’t know what the point of our club was other than to be exclusive and have super lame nicknames. But Robin gave me a stuffed koala for my birthday one year that I still have because it is SO COOL.
Then we moved to Muncie. I was promptly dubbed Rooster by one of the boys in my class. At first I was insulted, as a sixth-grade girl should be by pretty much any attention from a boy; but once Nick explained that he only called me that because of my red hair and my lovely singing voice, I was more okay with it. I found a sketch a few years ago of a rooster that Nick had done for me in 6th grade. I wonder where I put that.
Kiersten lived on my street and we hung out all the time. She and I watched Pinky and the Brain a lot, and since there were two of us, she got to be Pinky and I became the Brain. I’ve never been quite sure if both of us should have been insulted by how we dubbed ourselves. Probably, though. I’m sure the original instance involved eating way too many frozen Swiss Cake Rolls out of the freezer in the garage, so maybe the chocolate warped our brains. It’s more likely, however, that our minds were warped to begin with, and I’m fairly sure our families would agree with this statement.
My middle-school gym teacher called me Jonesy. I think that nickname was basically the only thing I liked about gym class, ever. For all time. (An aside and a confession: I had to stay late after school a bunch in high school so I didn’t fail gym. Yes, friends. I ALMOST FAILED GYM.)
I started babysitting around this time, and one of the little girls I watched had a hard time saying Bethany, so she called me Bleth. With extra spitting on the “th” at the end. I am pretty sure this little girl is headed off to college soon and I don’t know how I feel about that. More recent babysitting nicknames include Befamee, BB, Beeba, and Beeb. And Me. Before Elizabeth switched to calling me Beeba & then Beeb (which she came up with herself), she referred to me as Me. I had forgotten to refer to myself in the third-person when talking to her and would say things like, “Do you want me to help you?” and “Do you want to go outside with me?” Then later she said, “Hey, Me! I need help!” and “Me, look outside!” It was great. As far as BB goes, I’m pretty sure that one will stick for all time and I love it. And when Kiddo & Bubs stopped calling me Befamee and started calling me Bethany, my heart died a little because they were growing up. It’s okay, though, because their parents still call me Befamee.
Now, back to the nickname progression. During my freshman year of high school, a young man named Josh decided that he was going to call me The Horsefly. Maybe it had to do with my glasses? Maybe I smelled really bad? I don’t know. He was weird. He had this whole back-story worked up about my being a superhero named The Horsefly, and he wrote a theme song for me to the tune of the theme of Sanford and Son. The lyrics started with, “Here comes the Horsefly! With her probisci!” (Which, scientists, I realize is incorrect: he meant proboscis, but that obviously doesn’t rhyme.) Josh was in charge of doing the daily announcements, too, and choosing the accompanying music with which to begin them. You can imagine my horror the day that the daily announcements started with him and his buddy singing, “Here comes the Horsefly…” I don’t believe I will ever forget that. To get back at Josh, I am now pointing out for posterity that he was the kid who got upset with me for spoiling the ending of the movie Titanic, because I mentioned that the ship sank. He was legitimately and genuinely mad at me. So there, Josh. The Horsefly strikes back.
Before my senior year of high school, my community choir did an international choir tour in Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil. One of my host fathers was thrilled to learn that my name was Bethany, as his favorite Brasilian singer was Maria Bethânia Vianna Telles Veloso. Her stage name is Maria Bethânia and she is one of the top 10 bestselling artists in Brasil, along with being Caetano Veloso’s sister. My host father, mother, and sisters all started calling me Bethânia, and introduced me as such for the remainder of the trip. Quite a few of the other choir kids on the trip still call me Bethânia from time to time.
For some reason I started calling my friend Matt by his middle name, Gerald, so he started calling me Ruth in return. We graduated almost 20 years ago but still refer to each other as such.
Another high school nickname was Bethanski, which my friend Ben started calling me. I have no idea where it came from, but it stuck. It was my email address for awhile.
I couldn’t come up with any nicknames from college. This seems very odd and inaccurate to me, so if anyone wants to remind me of some, I’d appreciate it. After all, who doesn’t have nicknames in college?
Oh, wait! I thought of one! Ryan called me Bijou a couple of times. He came up with it randomly (I think because my initials were BJ, maybe?) and I thought it was cute. Then I discovered it was French for “jewel,” and that was even better and quite serendipitous. How sweet, right?
After graduation I worked at an all-girls boarding school as a dorm mom for a year. All the girls called me Ms. Jones. In October, Ryan and I got engaged, and quite a few of the girls started referring to me as Mrs. Beams instead. Two of my girls were from Mexico and legitimately thought my last name was going to be Beans but they were too polite to say anything. Eventually I found out, we all thought it was hilarious, and they started referring to me as Señora Frijoles and/or Beany Jones. Ryan didn’t think this was funny (presumably because he’s spent his entire life dealing with bean/beam jokes) but those girls were just so adorable, so I let them call me Mrs. Beans anyhow. I did have to put the kibosh on them calling him Mr. Bean, though.
Once we moved here to Rochester, somehow I became Beams. Ryan has been called Beams his whole life, mostly because he played varsity soccer and your last name tends to be what you get called in varsity sports. All through college, he was Beams to his roommates and friends. Then we got married and suddenly everyone called me Beams and called him Ryan. This has been a source of craziness for us, largely because when we hang out with college friends again, and they say, “Hey, Beams!” neither of us responds. I don’t respond because I know they’re talking to Ryan, and he doesn’t respond because he’s used to that greeting referring to me. So we just sit there like dolts. Quite a few people at church have been kind about switching for Ryan, though, and have started either calling us both by our first names or calling him Beams like in the old days.
And now the majority of my time, I just get called Mama. Or Baba, if Eli is feeling lazy. Or just a high-pitched shriek, if Eli is feeling REALLY lazy. My friends call me Bethany, BB, or Beams; and strangers still think my name is Tiffany. I really have to start enunciating when I introduce myself.