Do parents take care when choosing a name for their offspring? Do they honour a relative, or a friend with a namesake? Do they spend the months of the pregnancy studying official baby name books fretting about every meaning and spelling? Do they consider the possible implications re nicknames and shortenings ? Have they noticed the acronyms formed by the infant's initials? This is a thing. Friends christened their daughter Valerie Dawn without realizing the VD is often recognized as medical speak for venereal disease. My eldest daughter, Carrie, whom I occasionally associated with that ol' WWII British motto Carry On spent her high school years annoyed and puzzled by a classmate who insisted upon calling her General Mills. Despite liking and imbibing the cereal Cheerios she never made that connection to her surname. My maternal step-grandfather was of Polish descent and his family name is Cherski. Several of his relatives opted to anglicize their name and converted to Christie. I had a fleeting moment of elation as a child 'cause I immediately thought of the Christie cookie enterprise. Say it isn't so. Free cookies? Glorious cookies? Alas, these people were not related whatsoever. Pity. My only Cherski uncle had listened to his British born mother, aka Nanny to me ,tease him that her maiden name was McGillicuddy. He actually attempted to use that name to obtain a marriage licence. Even I knew that was Lucille Ball's television character's maiden name. I never have explained to him that his Mom had ancestors with the name Leper. Pronounced with its Normandy origin accent it sounds acceptable, but I like to say leper as in the illness. Years ago, one of my senior homecare clients grumbled her way through a home visit in which the interrogator nursing coordinator requested her given name. My client replied, "Betty." Not listening, the woman wrote Elizabeth and began to address Betty as such. Betty objected. "I quite clearly told you my name is Betty, not Elizabeth. It has never been Elizabeth, just Betty. I believe it was my father's favourite cow." Today, the local postmistress and I were chatting about addressing mail and the names she sees. She shared that she wanted a short, simple, no nonsense name for her son. As he began to speak for himself he would introduce himself as Just Jack. To emphasize the point he would raise one hand in the universal symbol for stop. I suppose it was his way of pre-empting too many assumptions like Jackson, or John. For years my great-nephew shouted that his name was Tonner Teith Toombs. That poor boy had a mouthful of a name and alas, he could not pronounce the requisite sharp, hard C sound. His aunt, my niece, likes to refer to him as Connie and his brother Nelson, Nellie, but I digress. My maiden name is Brownlee which apparently originated with the idea of a lea, or field. According to my extensive genealogical research the Irish Brownlees were farmers. Now, I do not claim to be a farmer, but is it a good thing to be associated with brown fields? I think of that as a fallow, or dead field. Is not the objective to have a green field, or a golden field? Well, it is what it is. At least I am not a Mudlee. During a visit, my five-year old grandgiggle Alexandra met a new friend at the nearby waterfront playground. I watched them giggle and chase each other. During a quick drink break, I enquired as to the girl's name. Alexandra scowled, shrugged and replied, "I dunno. Yellow?" I did not accept that answer. Really? Yellow? I have met a Violet and I assumed she was named after the flower not the colour. The girl's father overheard Alexandra and laughed. He assured me his daughter's name was Willow. Later, as this duo waved goodbye, he could not resist. "Say your farewells, Yellow." This same granddaughter once insisted that a girl's name was Dave and she could not be dissuaded. My all-time favourite misconnection of Alexandra's occurred when she was prompted by her mother to tell me her ski instructor's name. I did have some understanding that a five-year old was sharing this with me, and still I burst out laughing. Alexandra claimed that his name was, "Igloo." Yes, we reside in Canada and yes, we experience cold, snowy winters, but igloo? I wonder if she ever called this man , Hugh, this version? She is now a worldly six-years old. Alexandra tells me that she knows the real name of her favourite cartoon characters. They are no longer onions. She corrects me. "They are Minions, Nanna." I kinda enjoyed referring to them as onions. Sigh. Names are an important part of our identity. No matter what they are they are integral. I believe it was a comedian who once quipped, "You can call me anything just don't call me late to dinner." 822 words Attention Ẃeβ࿚Ẃỉtcĥ  and StephBee  "The Bard's Hall Contest"  |
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