Growing up, I always wished I had a nickname that fit me. A shortened name that encompassed me as a person. I always liked Elle, Ellie, E, anything but Ella. However, from a young age, I got nicknamed, “Boo Boo,”which was made up by my family.

No matter where I went, I was called “Boo Boo”. Even the front desk ladies at my primary school called me that. Whenever my brother needed me, it was always, “Boo Boo!” I could never pinpoint why I hated it, but I did. The name sounded young, childish, and already looking young for my age, I wanted nothing to do with it.

Sooner or later, the 5K days turned into fourth grade, which turned into eighth grade, and finally in no matter of time, 11th grade. Looking back, I can not remember the last time I heard my beloved, but annoying nickname. 

The nickname faded and eventually disappeared. I occasionally get called it by my brother when he comes and visits from college. I never realized how much I loved the name, until I almost lost it completely. It felt like part of me died and I did not know how to get it back. Something I thought I hated, turned out to be something that I thought was a part of my identity. It felt like a warm hug when I heard “Boo Boo” directed towards me.

So whenever “Boo Boo” slips out of my brother's mouth, I make sure to cherish the moment and take a minute to think about how much I not only love the nickname, but the people and the memories that come along with it. The nickname may have faded, but everything that came along with it will be with me forever.