The day Windy got his nickname. He was eight, I was six, or thereabouts. It was one of those hot summer days where the breeze is trolling, never popping up.
He and I were in a field past Nana's backyard, and were resting, trying not to do anything. Suddenly, he farts, and the wind starts blowing. It was lovely. I have been calling him Windy ever since.
I love giving people nicknames, so giving him one is happy for me.