Talking about the name issue right up front allows everyone to air their feelings and knocks stress down to manageable levels. But talking about something that’s as loaded as a frat boy on Saturday night is easier said than done. Hey, I’ve been there and, I’m ashamed to say, not done that. So If you’re the first to get married, there’s no lead to follow. As the head weenie at the roast, you have to blaze new ground. In that case, see suggestion #1. For example, my mother’s first name is Erna. For some reason that I can no longer remember (if there ever was a reason in the first place), my husband and several other sons-in-law call my mother “Oin,” a mangled variation of Erna. She appears to like it because it’s special and sets her apart from all the other Ernas in the world. All two of them. We’ve done the same thing for my father-in-law. His name is Louis, but everyone calls him by his middle name, Nick, which he prefers. I don’t call him by either name. Instead, we made up the name Nas, the first part of a juicy Greek curse he uses to amuse us. The first few words of this useful imprecation are “Nas a fahn a…” (Here’s the entire curse in translation, in case you ever need it: “May the red goats eat out your stomach lining and the white mice, too.”) So my father-in-law has become Old Nas; my husband, Young Nas. Again, he likes it because it’s as special as he is.
