WHAT'S IN A NAME

I spent a lot of time researching names when I was pregnant with my daughter. I wanted a name that wasn't too popular, but not too unusual. A solid, old-fashioned sort of name instead of something contemporary sounding. Growing up, I was always one of three Debbie's in my class. My mother told me once that she named me after the movie star Debbie Reynolds. I liked my name all right, I just didn't like always having to share it.

Every week prior to my daughter's birth, the newspaper would list the births from the local hospitals. I had narrowed my daughter's first name to two possibilities. My decision was made on the fact that Abigail was in the paper only once every couple of weeks, but the other name was listed twice each week. My choice gained popularity after my daughter's birth, but she is the only Abigail in her grade of 350 kiddos. She likes that. It makes her feel special.

I have been thinking about names once again. The genealogy bug has bitten me. I guess it's because of the ancestry.com commercials and that television series, “Who Do You Think You Are”. On the show, an important historical figure is revealed each week. Maybe only movie stars have someone important in their history. So far, all my relatives were farmers.

I wished though that I had taken the time to write down oral histories while my grandparents or my parents were still living. We just don't seem to possess the foresight when we are younger.

But I have revealed some interesting ancestral names. A great grandfather was named Elijah Andrew Jackson Ballard. That's a mouth full. He answered to Jack. A great, great, great grandfather was named Archibald McCoy Ardis. Maybe he went by Archie! And my grandmother, who I always knew as Rosa Lee actually changed her name in her teens. Even though she was named after her grandmother, the name “Jemima Clementine” was just too much for her it seems. Surely it wasn't common in the early 1900s for a woman to change her first and middle names. I must get my spunkiness from her!

I've decided it is human nature to shorten people's names or give them nicknames. I wish I had used my given name, Deborah. Sounds more professional, substantial. I remember the exact moment when I forever became a Debbie instead of a Deborah. It was my first day of school, ever. The teacher approached each student and wrote her name on a big piece of masking tape and then placed it on the kid's desk. As the teacher approached my desk, I quickly turned to the back of the class, where observing parents were sitting. I whispered to my mom, “Should I tell her Debbie or Deborah?” My mom left it up to me. I chose Debbie.

I tried in my early 30s to change to Deborah. I was starting a new job. Co-workers assumed I went by the name on my resume. The name plate for the office door was already ordered and nailed in place. Here was my chance to make the big switch. My new identity lasted all of one week before I requested they call me by my nickname. I had waited too long.

When Miss A was born, I must have subconsciously thought of my own history. From day one, we have only called our daughter by her given name. You can call her Abby, or you can call her Gail, but she only answers to Abigail.