Hello, My Name Is...

How do you feel about your name. Were you one of those kids who wished you had a different name? Is it so different that you felt like your parents were just using you for their entertainment? Or is it just a regular name that's neither here nor there and you wish it had more pizazz? My name was normal to me, although I hadn't heard of anyone else with the name Sheila. I found it kind of hard accepting my married last name of Hone, though, which was a very unusual name to me, after having the ordinary last name of Johnson. My mom is German. She has three middle names as well as her first, maiden and married names. My dad's name is Richard. When I was young his nickname was Dick. Dick Johnson. I won't get into that one any further. Most of my sisters have unusual names. Not odd, just heard a little less often. My own kids were named with different names, because we wanted them to stand out from a crowd.

But enough about my family, it's the neighbors who reside next to my grandparents who I want to talk about. There is a handful of headstones with the name of "Twelves" on them. Let me mention, my grandparents reside in a cemetery along with these neighbors. Every year for about the last five years, my family and I, have included the Twelves' in our Memorial Day rounds. I figure as long as we're in the neighborhood... We'll stop by and chat about them as if we know them, and comment on their lovely headstones. I'm kind of jealous, because I have taken to the name Twelves as a last name. I really want my last name to be Twelves. And if I had the name Twelves for a last name, I would surely change my first name to Evelyn. I want this so much, in fact, that if you asked my kids what name I would love to be known by, they would surely tell you, "Evelyn Twelves". It has such a lovely, numerical ring to it, don't you think? This has become the name of my alter ego. I'm not sure what an alter ego is, but I do know she wanted to help me write some of these blogs. I'll need to take some flowers to the Twelves' this next Memorial Day, now that we're family.

There is something magical about coveting a name that's not your own. I remember a co-worker telling me about 20 years ago that she was always jealous of her friends name. It was Vicky Trickleson. Say it out loud. See how it dances in your mouth then just trickles (no pun implied) off your tongue? It is so fantastic. I'm not sure Vicky Trickleson loved it as much as we love saying Vicky Trickleson. In the same vein, names aren't always so great to the people who have to respond do them. My son doesn't like his name very much, at his 13 year old time of life. His name is Jance. It's a great name! He thinks it sounds too much like a girls name. (Actually, his birth certificate did come with the name Janice, and we had to send it back.) He told me he wished he had a plain old, regular old name. My other son's name is Kaler. Now there's nothing feminine about that name, and yet, he gets sent an invitation in the mail to participate in the Miss Teenage Utah pageant every single year. When Craig's mom was young, she had a friend named Beverly. Her mother (Craig's grandmother) would get frustrated because she couldn't pronounce it correctly. She would say, "What kind of name is that anyway? Who would ever name their kid Bevelry!"

This name thing applies to our beloved pets as well. We spend hours coming up with just the right name. We have two rabbits. One's name was Bunbun. My boys did not agree, so after a couple of years they changed his name to Mr. Ostenvinsit. Sometimes he is known as Senor Ostenvinsit, but mostly just Osten, for short. Our other bun used to be known by the name of Cappucino. Well, it makes sense that this name didn't stick, he's not even the right color. My boys instantly gave this bun a complex by renaming him Stew Meat. Sometimes he is called Sewer Rat. Shameful. It doesn't stop there. I took a hand-me-down cat from one of my students to save her (the cat's) life. We've had her for quite a few months now. Her name was Sky. Not now. My boys saw to it that she had a better name. They call her Nitzen Motzen. That went to Nitty Mote, but now they call her Motzen or Mote for short. Poor thing. Who would call a beautiful cat Mote. Not Evelyn Twelves.

Cherish your names. It's a gift our parents gave us. It's our tag. It's our title. It's a factor which makes us who we are. As life's little influences change us a bit at a time, our name remains what it is. Besides we need names. How else would we greet each other?