Special Nicknames We Love: Gravel Belly, Corn, Bub, Crash, and More

How busted ramps and special nicknames keep our stories alive

“Gravel Belly” and “Bub”

Some names don’t make the history books.
Some don’t survive the property lines or the town council minutes.

But the right names—the ones that come with busted handlebars, chicken fights, and porchside lessons?

Those random funny nicknames survive where paper can’t reach.

People’s Nicknames: Earned, Not Given

Where I grew up, you didn’t need a résumé to know who you were dealing with.
You needed a special nickname.

Marlon’s was Corn.
Dennis’s was Bub.
I got stuck with Gravel Belly after a particularly bad crash on the old gravel road near the Heatherly's place.
Ronnie’s was Crash—from the day we built a plywood launch ramp and sailed him straight into a mess of honeysuckle bushes.

You didn’t have to like your funny nickname.
You just had to earn it.
And when someone hollered it across the football stands or from a truck window…
You answered.

The Special Nicknames That Stuck

Funny thing is, I didn’t think much about those names until I started writing Barefoot and Bulletproof.

I sat down thinking I’d be writing about ponds, wreckage, and the way Dennis and I found trouble.
But it was the people’s nicknames that kept showing up.
Sneaking their way into every chapter draft like they were afraid of being forgotten.

At first, I tried editing them out—"proper" language, more "professional" phrasing, and all. But every time I did, the story felt hollow.

Because those funny boy nicknames?
They were evidence.
Proof that we mattered, even if our town got swallowed by the chat dust or forgotten at Google maps.

How Special Nicknames Keep Stories Alive

And then I realized. It wasn't just the story that was holding onto those odd nicknames.

I was.

Because with dementia creeping through my family line, memory feels more like a flickering porch light than a spotlight.

And those moniker names carry even more weight.

They remind me that remembering isn’t about nostalgia—it’s a defiant act against forgetting and erasure. It’s about refusing to let time steamroll the people and places that shaped you.

You might’ve been Wildflower or Spud, or Jukebox where you grew up.
Maybe you hated your weird nickname.
Maybe you wore it like a badge.
Either way, I’m betting there’s a part of you that still hears it in your bones.

Chapter 2 of Barefoot and Bulletproof — “Full Speed Stupid” — is where the special names start showing back up.
Where the wrecks turn into lessons that stick.
That chapter’s free. Always will be.

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If this post stirred something in you…
If it made you smile about the mess you used to be…
If it reminded you that you come from a story worth remembering—

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