My nickname, at least within the limited precincts of the district where I live in Central Queensland, has been revealed. to the wider world. The blog I published on 9 May of this year, is the culprit. It includes a copy of the invitation to the ashes-scattering ceremony, held earlier this year to commemorate the life of Janet Louise Ward, my beloved life-partner of 33+ years.
In this invitation, my nickname is laid bare. Unlikely though it may look, sound, smell, and feel, said nickname is ‘Tiger’. For those who believe everything they read, it is there in print. Check it out, and believe.
Yes. Tiger.
How did I come by such an alias, indicative of awe and evocative of primal terror? I honestly can’t remember. Given that I perceive myself as the personification of a mild mannered person, I can only think that the clown who coined it must have been prone to flippancy and careless of my reputation.
Nevertheless, I accept the nickname. It brings with it a certain brutal charm. Somehow, it resonates with me. I imagine it has the capacity to strike fear into the unwary and to put would-be upstarts in their place. So, in the spirit of my newly-revealed identity, let me now flex my tigerish muscles and bare my big-cat claws.
Accordingly, I throw open this challenge to you. Do you know and respect the nature of the critter whose company you are now in and with whom you deign to partake of social intercourse? And, with that sorted, let me issue you a stern warning. Never, NEVER dare call me Tigger.
It is incumbent on me to live up to a nickname of such moment. I give you an example.
In the days when I taught secondary school at Rockhampton, I had the pleasure of taking a mathematics class of 13-year-old students. Mathematics, as you would know, is an exceedingly popular subject in student circles.
A student asked me, Sir, why do they call you Tiger?
… he had been to my home, and must have overheard Janet addressing me by the name of this wild animal …
Gathering my thoughts, and placing my tongue firmly in my cheek, I replied.
Well, I said, it’s in my nature to be a tiger, so why shouldn’t a name be put to it? Tiger by name, tiger by nature, wouldn’t you say?
I left the class to mull over my glib answer and rhetorical questions.
Then another student asked me, If they call you Tiger, what do they call your wife?
Like lightning, a hand shot up at the back of the class. This third student answered the question for me.
Sex kitten, he said.