Nathaniel, Nateybugs, Nate, etc

I was named Nathaniel by my parents on the day I was born. My dad’s name is Neal and my mom wanted something that was similarly related to it but not the name in its entirety. So Nathaniel was on the table. My dad suggested the names Jack, Wyatt, and Ian. Of course, these names fell through the cracks. But the way in which they did is ultimately hysterical. 

    I have two older siblings, my sister being eight years older than me and my brother being six years. Both of my siblings did folklórico, which is a traditional Mexican style of dance. They would go to practice, rehearse, and then of course, perform in competitions. One of these competitions just so happened to be at the Happiest Place on Earth, Disneyland. With my mom being nine months pregnant, she went to her doctor and asked if she would be ok with going to the famous amusement park. The doctor said she was cleared and good to go. 

Turns out, I was the one who was good to go. My siblings performed and after they changed, my parents surprised them by spending the rest of the day at the park. They didn’t know I was planning an even bigger surprise later on (10 pounds to be exact). My mom first felt like she was going into labour when she was in line for Pirates of the Caribbean. And instead of getting out of line, she decided she was going to go on it and see how she felt after. She’s a champ. 

After getting off the ride, my mom knew that she was  definitely going through labor and because she was with my brother and sister, she knew that if she was to panic, so would they. So she guided them over to a bench and when they sat down, my mom tried to control her laboured breathing. My dad was off trying to get fast passes for Haunted Mansion and when he got back, my mom told him that it was time to go. All while this was going on, a worker was watching my mom and had called security and notified a couple of nurses about what was going on. My mom was put in a wheelchair and had her own mini parade down ‘Main Street USA’. The worker who helped my mom out of the park, his name was Nathaniel. The nurse, who was talking to my mom about her own son, was also named Nathaniel. It seemed evident enough to my parents that that’s what I was supposed to be named. 

Strangers call me Nathaniel. Anyone who calls me Nathaniel isn’t close to me on a personal basis. Maybe they’re my acquaintance but even then, not a very close one. Nathaniel has zero attachment. It's the base. The neutral. The grey. Not a good or terrible connotation. It’s just... there. Nothing else left about it. Which inherently isn’t a bad thing. It’s the norm. It’s a first impression. But it’s so-
Boring.

My name means Gift from God. My mom had two miscarriages in-between my brother’s birth and mine. So I was her gift. Granted, I know at some points that there are definitely times where I bet she wishes she kept that receipt, but that’s what happens when you have a ‘moody teen’ in high school. Especially when said high school is labeled to be prestigious. It’s hard to keep up. Not with the work, no, that for certain I’m able to compete in. More like. The weight of the name. The association. And that’s what it’s like to have your name mean Gift from God.

I’ve always made friends with teachers. Something about ‘Me being such a mature young man for my age’. I don’t think that that's very true. I mean. I get the point of a kid being mature but in the end, is that what it's like to have conversations with a teacher? I think it’s more along the lines that, growing up, I never associated with kids my age. You can throw me in a room with a group of teens and I’ll make friends with ease, don’t get me wrong. It’s more of, teens are concerned with status and labels, and I’m not. I never have been. 

Anyways, the first teacher I ever made friends with was a woman named Miss Eno. She was a kind woman, my sister’s fourth grade teacher and, the funny thing was, she never actually taught me. I was just the cute little guy who liked candy. Which she would definitely use to dote on me. Now don’t hate me for this, but candy corn to me, at least growing up, was really good. And she always had a jar full, just for me. She was my ‘fun aunt’ for a while, until she left the school that my siblings were attending. But sometime before that, I can’t exactly pinpoint when it happened or when she started calling me this. But she started to call me Nateybugs. 

Nateybugs. A name that has been adopted by my family ever since. My mom started to use it at first and it moved to my dad, my sister and brother following. It’s definitely not something that I hear every day. It’s more of a loving and endearing term. 

I remember this one night in freshman year. I’m pretty sure I had just bombed a quiz or test or something along those lines. And the rest of the day was just bad. No other way to put it. And my parents know that I have anxiety so when I was extra jumpy at dinner that night and I didn’t really want to talk, they knew something was up. Later on that night my mom wanted to talk to me. And she called me Nateybugs. It’s not something that I was used to at this point because I was pretty sure that the name had died when we had thrown away all my old teddy bears. It warmed my heart. 

Nateybugs is a name reserved for family only. No one outside of my family can call me that and rightfully so. Even best friends know that it’s a family thing. 
I was quite the mumbler growing up. My brother would often actually shout the word at me if I ever did in front of him which honestly, didn’t really help with that. So when I couldn’t say Nathaniel, my parents decided to shorten my name to Nate. 
    
Nate is probably the thing I go by the most, which my mom is definitely not afraid to tell her she hates if you ask her. It’s simplistic. Not something that can have a double meaning. Most people call me this. People ranging from best friends to classmates to extended family members who I only see at Christmas time. They all call me Nate. 

I don’t know why, but I always wanted to change the status quo. Beat the norm. Because being the norm was what I lacked. Which probably explains why I was able to make friends with teachers. I wasn’t your typical kid in any format. Mostly because my personality is so wide and chaotic (in the best way, of course) that, when I was growing up, I didn’t understand certain things and most kids didn’t understand a lot of things about me. 
    
Because on the basis of just knowing somebody’s name. You don’t learn much.
    
People who call me Nathaniel know my name, and physical traits. That’s about it. Nothing else, nothing more. 
    
People who call me Nateybugs know me the best. They are my family. They know my chaos, my intensity, my loving, my hope, my aspirations. 
    
People who call me Nate. Well, that’s where it gets spread out. Classmates who pass me in the hall and call me Nate aren’t much different than the people who call me Nathaniel. Other people who call me Nate can pick up on certain things about my personality. I’m a pretty energetic person and a lot of people can realize that by just holding a conversation with me. 
    
My best friends who call me Nate. They know everything. What inspires me, my comic book favorites, my movies, my love for Disney.
    
And I know that a person knows me by what they call me. Earlier I mentioned I hate labels. It’s not for the usual ‘oh they’re rude’ or ‘oh they hurt my feelings’, no that’s not why. It’s because you can’t really encompass a person by just using one word. People can’t classify other people because people are complex. They have thoughts and ideas and hopes and dreams. And using one word to decide that for them? 
    
And having that one word be harmful to that person especially. People can be self conscious of whatever you call them. In middle school, I was called plenty of things. But I owned them. I still do. I was called flamboyant, nerd, geek, sexuality slurs, and stuff like that. And to my credit, I owned it.

I am flamboyant. 

I am a nerd.

I am a geek.

I am gay. 

But those things are only part of me. They don’t define me. 

Rather, they describe me.

Labels don’t define your identity because a person’s identity is always changing and adapting and growing and it’s not a set list. You can’t point at someone and pinpoint an entire personality on them because they might not know exactly what their personality entails. Kids, teens, and even adults; we always get labeled for everything we do and those things stick to you. Life is always changing, identity is always adapting. The labels that we go by, have to be our own. We can choose who and what we want to be. And with that, what we want to be called. 

We set the guidelines. 
We set the labels. 

So I did. I set my labels into:
Nathaniel, Nateybugs, Nate, etc.

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