When I was a kid, I had lots of nicknames. One friend called me “Monkey” because I always brought bananas to school in my lunch. Another dubbed me “Too Tall Jones” because I towered over everyone else in our grade, while still another preferred to call me “Giraffe” for the same reason.
I didn’t mind any of these monikers, given as they were by classmates who used them affectionately. When I think of them now, I remember those friends fondly.
I did have another childhood nickname that brings up a different set of feelings, though. Prompted by my apparent propensity for fretting about everything, one of my much older brothers called me “Worry Busby.”