The Story of Scoot

Over the course of my life, many folks have asked me where I got the name, “Scoot"/"Scooter.”  It is a funny story honestly, and I wanted to explain it for all my friends and folks who take the time to read these writings. To put it simply, I got it from my dad when I was a newborn.  

Being the only son of my father, he was so proud and made sure my crib was on his side of the bed.  He said I would scoot to the top and make the crib wall pooch out.  When I couldn't go any farther, the crib would squeak.  It would wake him up, and he would pull me back down.  After doing this a few times, he told me that if I didn't quit doing it that he would call me, “Scoot.” The rest is history.  I’m sure glad he didn’t call me, “Squeaky.”

Most of my family knows me as “Scoot,” but I became “Scooter” in my college days, working at Johnny Rockets, a nostalgic 1950s-styled hamburger and shake restaurant.  Ever since then, I just stayed with Scooter.   What makes the name so special is that it has been my saving grace.  My family name is Hilery, which means “cheerful,” and it has the same origin as the word, “hilarious.”  Ironically, it was not hilarious growing up with a gal's name despite it being spelled differently.  Although my parents contemplated naming me “Stephen Douglas Ward” after my late uncle Douglas, it was decided that I be named a junior, after my dad and granddad whose middle name was Hilery.  Side note: the buck stops here—I am NOT naming my kid, “Hilery,” even if it is a girl.  HA!

Like most young boys, I was a fan of Superman and Batman.  My mom used to make all of my clothes on her sewing machine.  She had the great idea to make me a “Scootman” cape, and I loved it.  My dad used to fly me around the house with the cape on like I was a superhero.   He would hum the Batman tune, and instead of saying “Batman,” he and mom would say “Na-na, na-na, na-na, Scootman!”  It was so much fun.  Some of my uncles and aunts still call me “Scootman” from time to time, but “Scoot” is primarily the name used by those who knew me before college.

During my senior year of high school, my English teacher shared a funny story about the first class I had with him nearly three years prior. He recalls taking roll and seeing my name, “Hilery,” on the class roster. When he looked up to see if Hilery was present, he was so very surprised to see me, a blonde-haired GUY sporting a huge smile. We both laughed about it, and I recalled how every year I had to correct the roster by requesting use of my nickname—instead of the real name. I don’t think anyone ever called me, “Hilery,” except another friend, a girl named Hillary. We would always greet one another by our mutual name and laugh.

While in college, I stayed on campus at the dorms for my first two years.  During my sophomore year, I was roomed with a guy named, “Shannon.”  The dorm supervisor and resident advisors must have gotten a laugh at our expense.  I eventually moved off campus for my final two years, but not because of “Shannon.”

After completing my undergraduate degree, I was commissioned as an officer in the United States Air Force (USAF).  While in Officer Training School at Maxwell Air Force Base (AFB), I was roomed with a guy named “Stacey.”  I thought to myself, “You gotta be kidding me!”  The upperclassman did not leave me alone until he ensured they did not put me in a dorm with a female, “Stacey.”  Nope, another poor guy with a girl’s name.  He and I became great friends, and since he was a prior enlisted tech sergeant, he helped me get up to speed on the Air Force life.

After leaving basic training, I went to my first duty station at Tyndall AFB.  Once I completed my training, the flight commander hosted our class’ official callsign night.  In keeping with the USAF tradition, several stories were shared about us from our classmates and instructors.  Up until this time, no one really knew my real name was “Hilery.”  As the night wore on and more beverages were consumed, it was my turn to stand before the group and await this ritual akin to a light hazing of sorts.  I was surprised when my flight commander blurted out, “His real name is ‘Hilery’!”  The laughs ensued and I was donned with the callsign, “Clinton.”  I later found out that once I got to through my flight training at Tinker AFB in Oklahoma and received my wings, I would have another callsign night with my operational unit. I quickly learned the protocols and with my fellow airmen, I was able to redeem the callsign and settled on “Cooter” after the fictional character from the Dukes of Hazard.  Several of my classmates concurred that I matched his character’s personality from the show and I sounded a lot like him on the radio.  I thought that was a much better callsign, but it cost me a lot of money.  You see for every bad callsign, you have to drink one shot or pay $5 to the squadron.  Fortunately, I strategically visited the ATM prior to the event and with the help of my friend, Herman, we both had each others’ backs, intent on coming out of the night with a callsign we could be proud of wearing. 

In 2010, I started a big band called, “Cloud 9 Orchestra.”  When I submitted the paperwork, it had my legal name “Hilery” on it.  Evidently, my name was submitted on the junk mail list and I received a letter in the mail congratulating me on my new business.  I was also informed that I had been accepted into the National Association of Professional Women—NOTHING SHORT OF “HILERY-OUS!”

Over the course of my life, I have grown to appreciate my name, but I will always cherish my nicknames “Scoot” and “Scooter.”  I typically use my initials, “H. L.,” on official correspondence to forego any confusion and sound a bit more professional.  It has grown on me, and I like to think that maybe I have grown into it.  Perhaps I will write a song one day like Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue.”

I would like to close this story with a final blessing concerning my nickname, “Scoot.”  My sister and her husband had their first child last year—a sweet, baby girl.  I was ecstatic for them and when she told me that baby was to be named in my honor as “Scout,” I was over the moon.  What a blessing to know that it was her real name (not a nickname), and she was named after her Uncle Scoot.  She’s a beautiful little girl and already living up to her name as a little explorer.  We are already becoming best buddies.  Perhaps a future story I write will be titled, “The Adventures of Scout and Scoot.”  Stay tuned!