Nicknames and Driving

Over the years I have had many nicknames. There are always the pet names your parents give you and there are the embarrassing ones that childhood friends attach to you for various reasons. There are three nicknames that have stuck with me into adulthood. Jenny, Koko and Mario.

I started out this life as "Jenny" and have always despised this name. Not sure why, I was just never a "Jenny" in my mind. The only people to call me this are my closest relatives and when I hear that name I turn into my 10 year old self. That is never a good sign, is it? It is mainly my seven (7) cousins, whom I grew up with and remain fairly close to, that call me by this nickname. Two (2) of these cousins showed me how to drive, operate a tractor, maneuver a three wheeler and mini-bike (motorcycle). Both of these boys happened to be four to five years older than me making my first driving experience at roughly the age of 7. That to, is never a good sign is it?

My parents always loved their cars. They still do. I remember looking at pictures of them from college in their very cool "convertibles". I can remember one of our cars as a small child. It was a 1969 Camero, gray with a black stripe running up the hood. We used to go to the Drive-ins in that car and my Mom used to love to scare my dad at night, on the back roads to her parents farm, by turning off the lights. My Dad would say at, certain appropriate moments "hold on Jenny, Mommy is driving".

At various points in my life my parents owned a Camero, Mustang, Thunderbird, Spider and Corvette. Imagine my horror when I was 11 or 12 and they decided it was time to purchase a pea green Volarie Station Wagon. Mind you, we always had a slick other car that my Mom would drive, not as hot or grand as those previously mentioned, but cool none the less. The green bomb was certainly not cool but lasted until I went away to college.

When I finally obtained the sacred laminated card that said I could legally drive, I had that feeling of freedom. I was no longer going to be repressed for I could let my spirit roam. I could not wait to get into my Mom's Mustang and cruise onto the school parking lot. What I failed to realize is that Koko was going to be cruising onto the parking lot in the green bomb with all her friends ducking down so they could not be seen with her. Alas, I was still able to maintain my coolness as I had the only vehicle that could hold 3 girls, 5 boys, several coolers of beer and several sleds. Koko is a derivative of my last name, upon which most could and cannot pronounce. Hence the shortened version to Koko. This nickname I do not mind as much and it holds a bit of nostalgia for me. If I hear someone refer to me as this I know it is an old friend. Koko could be counted on as well as the green bomb she drove.

If you were a very close and personal friend you were trusted and hence were allowed to go out with me on the nights I was allowed to drive one of the cool vehicles. The first time I was allowed to drive the Mustang I was dubbed Mario and the nic never went away, to this day. Or actually last night.