This weekend Jim’s side of the family had a reunion of sorts. His cousin, Jay, was visiting from California (remember, we’re in PA) and a BUNCH of people showed up at Jim’s cousin Tom’s house. Jim and Tom are both 39 (as of yesterday, Happy Birthday Jim!) and Jay is (I think) 43. There was LOTS of reminiscing, but even more Jimmy and Tommy’s flying around.
My husband, born James Jr, was obviously named after his father. To make a distinction between him and said father, they added the -my to the end of his name, thereby creating a
nightmare nickname. It was cute. He was cute. However, he grew up. His family name, however, did not. When our brother-in-law moved here from New Zealand, he thought my husband’s name was Jimmy because that is how his wife referred to him. Always. When he finally met him in person and called him Jimmy, it was just a tad Twilight Zonish. Tommy Tom has the exact same situation and the exact same problem. He said “When I turned 39 I decided to drop the ‘my’ “. I don’t think the family listened overmuch.
This particular problem is why none of my boys were named James as a first name.