The most awkward moment of my summer was when I had the bright idea to play the Ying Yang Twins’ hit song, “Wait (The Whisper Song),” for my mom on a rainy afternoon. She rudely cut me off as I joyously sang along with the explicit chorus, “Wait ‘til you see my d—”
Hello, my name is David, but my friends call me “Ja Levitt.”
Over the summer, I learned about the multiple personalities that I bring out in various situations. When anyone identifies me as David, I pretend to be intellectual, very courteous and kind. However, when someone calls me “Ja,” my wild side comes out in which I’m rambunctious, witty and rap freestyles all the time.
I spent the past few months locked up in a prestigious science laboratory where this personality conflict arose. For five days a week, eight hours a day, I acted respectfully and spoke eloquently to my fellow scientists. Like many other college students, I worked in a professional atmosphere as part of an internship intended to transform me into an actual adult.
So accustomed to being referred to as “Ja” while on the campus, I was a little disoriented when interacting with others in my lab this summer. When friends of mine would call the lab telephone asking for “Ja,” my co-workers would hang up on them as if it was a prank call (Jah being the name of the Rastafarian god). My name in the lab was David, just as it said on my ID badge, which featured a ravishing photo of myself.
When my loving mother identifies me by my nickname, my whole body cringes. She says that she does it because she wants to remain hip and “with it.” My parents gave me my birth name, but do they not like it anymore? I feel odd when adults, meaning anyone I consider old, call me “Ja.” It just doesn’t seem right.
As I’ve come to understand it, a nickname is a way for friends to connect with one another, assigning pet names for different people based on embarrassing moments, physical attributes, nationality or any random number of reasons. Even if nicknames are sometimes inappropriate or mysterious in meaning, the specified person with the nickname feels special when he is called upon by his elite title. But as I learned this summer, these special names are only fitting depending on when and where they are being used.
You are never allowed to choose your own nickname; rather, your dear and caring friends must choose it for you. Once they have picked a name, you can claim ownership of it and introduce yourself by this newly anointed moniker.
These are the nicknames that I use to identify some of my friends: “Big Rob” (she’s short), “Choo-Choo McGill” (likes the sound of locomotion), “Deep Guy” (a so-called deep thinker), “Dirt” (cannot explain), JJ (well, his first name is Jason), “Samosa” (a big fan of the Indian delicacy), “Timmy D” (his name is too easy to pronounce by itself, so this makes it a little more difficult) and “Vod” (he’s Russian).
It’s these same childhood nicknames that will stick with us for the rest of our lives. When I run into you at the nursing home in a good 60 years from now, I know that you won’t remember my first name, but rather my nickname and the good memories attached to it. If I don’t remember you, it’s probably because you never had a nickname or that we were not even friends to begin with. Sorry in advance.
Is it really just a name? Without such a nickname, I’d most likely still act the same way, depending on the day of the week and the people I am with. If you see a fly kid strutting around in his Sean John apparel, it’s probably me. If you do see me, I give you permission to call me “Ja.” But if you don’t feel comfortable in doing so, you can call me David, too.
David Levitt is a sophomore physiology and neurobiology major. He can be reached at dlevitt@umd.edu
