It is not uncommon, if you are a Southerner, to call your sister Sissy and your brother Bubba, for as long as you both shall live. It is a quaint little thing, and endearing and sweet to see, especially when it comes from an elderly man, talking about his sister, or vice versa.
When Julia was born and made Katie a sister, it seemed so natural to refer to Katie as Sissy. As Julia learned to talk, Sissy was one of her first words.
"She's never going to learn to say Katie," Sean would lament. I assured him she would.
When Henry came along, I never instructed the girls to call him anything other than his name, and yet, the nickname came.
It is ingrained in their DNA, the redneck chromosome.
Entirely from my side of the family.
They can be brought out in anger ("Give it to me, Siss-AY!"), or with great love ("You are my boy, Bubby."), and is interchangeable in everyday life. It is as much a part of them as their given names. I hope that, even when they are grown, a little part of them stays Bubba and Sissy, forever.
2 weeks ago