Why The ‘S.’
Here’s a wee Scottish Lad And Lassie in 1964. Read on to see how the picture fits the story.
When I first logged on to the internet in 1997 it was a source of unbelievable information, literally right there at my finger tips with something weird called googling, with a capital ‘G.’
Over the years I learned to email, post, tweet, Snapchat, blog, Instagram, What’s App, and once in a while, read naughty jokes.
What I also discovered was that I was not the only ‘James McCreath’ on the planet earth.
At first I thought, “How dare they?”
But then I realized it was a big world, so why not?
However, once I got onto FaceBook, which I sometimes affectionally call ‘FacePlant,’ people kept getting me confused with those other guys, the usurpers.
Shame on them!
Anyway, when I wrote a little story that was available on Amazon I figured that I should separate myself from the pretenders.
But how to do it? In the past there have been many derivatives of my given name, James.
Jim, Jimmy, Joey, Jimbo, Jimmybaby, Jimmyboy, The Jiminater, Jimster, Jimfluence and on the rare occasion that I become cozy with a certain Tennesee whisky, JimmyJack., but never, thank heavens, ‘Jaimie.’
None of those monikers seemed appropriate to distinguish myself, so I went with my middle initial, ‘S.’
That’s why my ‘Renaldo’ book cover say,
James ‘S.’ McCreath.
The ‘S’ was given to me in honour of the fortitude that my kilt wearing ancestors embodied.
‘Scott’ would be my mid-handle.
Unfortunately, my mother’s Italian relatives refused to accept that ‘S’. To them it was a personal affront.
In Italia, the ‘S’ would always stand for ‘Spagetti!’
(author’s note: no ‘h,’ this is the way the paisanos spell it.)
