They Call Me James … and Jim, Jimmy and Sometimes Jimbo

To take a page out of Eminem’s lyric book, my name is what? My name is who?

No, my name is James, and you can call me … James.

Based on the response I got from a rare Facebook rant I made over the weekend, I get the feeling this is something many of you deal with on a daily basis: people creating nicknames for you without asking.

I understand why people go with nicknames first. They think it adds that personal charm, that “Oh, we’re buddy-buddy” sort of feel, but some people can be touchy about what people call them. And you can include me on that list.

It’s quite common for me to get an email from someone I don’t know with the friendly opening of, “Hey, Jim, I’d like to talk to you about this or that” or the quick closing of “Thanks, Jim, for thinking of us.”

You might think it sounds pompous for me to say this, but my name is James. It’s not Jim, Jimbo or Jimmy. James is what’s on my birth certificate, and it’s what people have called me — outside of close family members — since the third grade. Big revelation here: My parents preferred the nickname Jamie, so I was Jamie until the third grade, and they and some other family members sometimes still call me that. Bigger revelation here: There are some family members on my wife’s side who do call me Jimbo on occasion. There’s a story behind it that makes it more endearing, but I won’t get into that here.

But as for James, in the third grade my teacher asked me what I wanted to be called. No one had ever asked me before. Everyone had always called me Jamie. To be able to choose what people called me? It was an empowering moment I’ll never forget.

I didn’t know the word at the time, but I gravitated toward the euphonious “S” in James. It just felt and sounded right to my ear.

At that instance, my mind raced like Ralphie’s inner voice in “A Christmas Story.”

“Should I go with what people know and say, Jamie?” I thought. “No, this is my chance to be heard, to be who I really want to be.”

I was finally going to get my way, which is something I had discussed in my head for gosh knows how long. “I go by James,” I said. There, I’d said it. After all those years of acting as this Jamie person, I finally had gotten the opportunity to choose what people would call me.

It was liberating.

It was great.

It was name-tastic.

Since then, I’ve always gone by James. Yes, there have been nicknames along the way, such as Generic T. Long story, but my twin brother had worn a shirt with his then-seventh grade nickname to school one day, so one of the basketball coaches decided I was now to be known as Generic T. It stuck for a couple of years.

Then someone in college called me Double T for reasons I still don’t understand. And a few people along the way have called me James with the Spanish pronunciation.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have problems with nicknames, but, especially in the business setting, I don’t think people should randomly brand people with a nickname. We shouldn’t assume Susan wants to be called Sue, Douglas wants to be called Doug or Margaret prefers Peggy. And a John McKenzie shouldn’t be called “Johnny Mac” without his consent. Names are personal. Names are a big part of who we are.

When I contact someone I don’t know, especially via email, I use the name I find on a company website or social media outlet. If I’m still not sure what name to use, I use the last name with a courtesy title. Of course, I’d say, “Here’s to you, Ms. Robinson” instead of “Mrs. Robinson.” Hey, hey, hey.

And I certainly don’t think managers should create nicknames for personnel who report to them. Well-intentioned or not, unrequested nicknames can come off as condescending.

So what’s my name? It’s James. If you call me Jim, I might cringe, but I’ll get over it quickly. But if you really feel the need to call me a nickname instead of James, I guess I’d prefer Jamie. It’s grown on me a little over the years, but just a little.