I grew up with an unusual name, for its time and place at least, but for me, that's not the most interesting part.
What stuck with me was the story my mother told me about how she chose my name. She talked about having met a beautiful dark-haired girl with the name Anita, and immediately falling in love with her, and because of that, her name. I'm sure there were more details in her story, but all I remember is the dreamy way her eyes drifted as she remembered my namesake. When she gave me the name, I think my mother was trying to capture some perfect picture in her imagination by giving the name to me.
Rather than being dark and graceful like my namesake, I came out blonde and clumsy, but I suspect that my mother let go of much of her fantasy the moment I was born, anyway :-)
When I named my daughters, it struck me that the name and its sound was less important than the mental picture each name evoked for me. When my daughters were born, I chose their names based on the mental images I have of the beautiful, tall, strong women they would become.
That made me curious about what other names evoke in the minds of people who bestowed them or carry them.
I would love to hear your stories. What is your name, and how did you get it? Is there a story behind it? Who named you?
Did you have the privilege and responsibility of naming your child, or a grandchild, neice or nephew? How did you choose, and what does the name mean to you?
Over to you ....
2 comments:
Hi Anita,
Thanks so much for your creative blog and for the beautiful description of why your mother chose your name.
My name is Sigrid, which is Icelandic. My mother read the trilogy Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset when she was pregnant, so she named me Sigrid and five years later, called my sister Kristin.
I absolutely hated my name until I was in my late 20s or early 30s. Prior to that, I grew up in New Jersey where there were a number of Italians, some Jews and a preponderance of WASPS and Europeans, but not a Scandinavian in the bunch. I was teased, affectionately, and called Cigarette and Cigar. Later on, in university, people thought they were very clever when they called me Sigmund after the great Freud, and they always acted as though they were the very first to make this brilliant joke.
In homeroom in high school, I sat behind a girl by the name of Sue and frequently yearned to have a nice, normal name like Susan that I didn't have to spell out every time a teacher met me. Teachers, as well as classmates and other folks, not only could not spell my name, but also could not pronounce it. They called me Siegfried, Zigrid and Segrid; when David Bowie became famous as Ziggy Stardust, so did I since I developed the nickname!
Sometime around the age of 30, I grew into my name and now I'm happy to have a unique name. Most of the time I don't have to give people my last name at all; for example, if I call someone and speak to her husband, all I have to say is, "This is Sigrid," and hardly anyone ever says, "Sigrid who?" Face it -- how many Sigrids are there? It's like Madonna or Sting. All I have to say is Sigrid and everybody knows who's calling.
Plus, I like the fact that my first name reflects my maternal heritage and my last name reflects my dad's background.
Sigrid Macdonald
I was adopted, so I have had a couple of names. One stuck, and carries a peculiar symmetry between a life that is and a life that wasn’t to be. The trunk of a multiverse tree as it were.
My birth mother named me, “Michael Harold.” The origins of either name lay as a complete mystery for me. They might have been my father’s name or names. Perhaps a favorite uncle’s or an old flame’s. Either way they were mine for a short period and in some manner, remain an incomprehensible glyph into the deep past history that is mine.
At about eighteen months of age, I went to live with my adopted family. Being quite old and use to my name, my adopted mother felt that I should keep my given name, “Michael.” But, things shifted a little as it became my middle name. The tree was shifting, sprouting a new branch. I gained a, “Peter,” from somewhere on my adopted father’s side of the family. I became, “Peter Michael,” with my newly middled name being given the status of favored.
In one life, I was first born. The eldest of any other siblings that my birth mother may have had. “Michael,” was first. Boldly cutting the trail forwards for others to follow. But, that was not the life that was to be led. “Michael,” became second; well, second in name, and third in siblings. I became the youngest of three. Others were cutting the trail for me to follow.
We are all a convolved product of our life’s experiences. Who I am is certainly a product of “ Michael,” and my family. Who I might have been is also a product of “Michael ,” and his family. Perhaps that branch lives on in the multiverse ...
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