What's In a Name?

I suppose now is the time to confess that Claire is my legal name. Um, no that's not it. I suppose now is the time to confess that Claire was not my birth name. No, that's not it either. I suppose now is the time to confess that Claire was not the name on my birth certificate. I'd tell you that name but since I no longer use it, I no longer use it. To be sure, my mother still uses the name found on my birth certificate when she's talking to me. In all other circumstances, however, my mother uses "Claire" (yes, quotation marks implied).

It's interesting how people adjust to name changes. My brother squared himself with my name change by purchasing me two itsy bitsy tiny coffee mugs (each about the size of two erasers found on the end of a no. 2 pencil)--my old name embossed on one and Claire on the other--and wiring them together as a Christmas ornament. I hang that on my tree every year in memory of him and his effort to cope with life's changes and let me know he'd accept just about any fool thing I decided to do with my life.

The distinction made above between birth name and birth certificate is based in, well, fact. Something I'll get to in a moment.

Have you ever had something foisted on you that doesn't fit, say, a description of your character by someone projecting his or her childhood trauma drama or perhaps a name given to you at birth? It makes me wonder how many people are named after relatives and then are repeatedly told they are just like certain relatives simply because everyone conjures up the relative in their heads every time the name is used? Even if the characterization is true, I can see where it might get old growing up in someone's shadow. Now, if the person casting the shadow is dead and is revered for having saint-like qualities and their saintliness has given you a pass when it comes to your very human qualities, well then, good for you.

As for me, the only name on my birth certificate that was a family name was my last. My mother claims that one of her older sisters took the name she wanted for me and gave it to her first daughter Nedra. (My mother wanted to name me after her much beloved father who was called Ned; Mom says that she and her sister used to while away the hours dreaming up names for their future children when restless and unable to sleep in the bed they shared growing up.) Oh to have been named after a revered relative. Then, mother claims that she and the same sister (my beloved Aunt May who recently passed) fell in love with the name Sharon with them agreeing that whoever had the next girl child could have that name. Well, you know how that turned out... oh, I suppose you don't. Sharon is a beautiful name and would have kept it had that been my given name.

And with that admission we've accounted for two of my Aunt May's three daughters. The last being Isobel, who is by no means the last in our hearts, though she is the youngest of the female cousins from the three sisters in our mothers family and the youngest of Uncle Tommy and Aunt May's five children. Isobel is named after my Aunt Belle, my mother's other sister. I would have been pleased with that name as well, though I know my cousin prefers her nickname Isy.

I'd heard stories my whole life about how my mother was named by the nurse that attended her mother. Turns out my mother was my grandmother's 6th pregnancy, 5th live birth, and for whatever reason, when asked by the nurse what name she wanted on the birth certificate, my Grannie asked the nurse, "What's yours?"

"Margaret," came the reply.

"And your middle name?"

"No middle name."

And that's how my mother became "Margaret NMN" (no, NMN is not her middle name; it's what Mom writes on documents that insist she have one). My mother was called Pearl growing up because that's a nickname for Margaret. (I have a cousin Pearl who's named after my mother's nickname.) Then, when Mom came to the States at age 26, she encountered two men by the name of Pearl and assumed it was a man's name in this country. A short time after that she began calling herself Sharon.

The primary reason I did not like my first name, aside from the sense that it "just did not fit," was that it was one of the more popular names the year I was born (ranking #10). I was rarely, if ever, the only one in my class. Back when I was growing up, the only names more popular were Mary, Deborah, Linda, Debra, Susan, Patricia, Barbara, Karen, and Nancy. Believe me if you grew up when I did with one of those names and you got tired of at least one other person answering every time your name was called in class, I felt your pain. Actually, my first and second names were a popular combo... sort of like a double whammy.

Seriously disliking one's name is not good, particularly if you are a sensitive child prone to feeling guilty for disliking what your parents came up with after months of consideration.  When I learned how I got my name, I was relieved of the guilt I'd been carrying, although I had done nothing to make my parents suspect that I did not like my name. Well, almost nothing. I was once lost in a store and when asked my name so it could be announced on the loud speakers, I responded, "Annette." You see, the Mickey Mouse Club was popular and like a lot of kids, I was in love with Annette Funicello.

When I was about to start the 6th grade--where four of us with the same handle would be given unfortunate nicknames by our sadistic teacher--, I finally got up the nerve to ask my Dad how he and my Mom came up with my given name. As it turns out, he had intended to call me "Dawn." As a sailor in the U.S. Navy, it was my Dad's experience that dawn and twilight were the most beautiful times of the day aboard ship. However, when he responded to the nurse's question, "What name would you like on the birth certificate?" the nurse flat out heard him wrong. Apparently, her brain switched Dawn with the sound alike she saddled me with... probably because my middle name was a part of that popular duo. My parents didn't notice the error until after they got me home.

Given that my mother was named after her mother's attending nurse, and seeing the kismet of my being named by my mother's attending nurse, and while not seeing the harm in it, my parents let that nurse's error slide.

A few decades later, I decided to shed that false-feeling moniker. When I told my mother, she was aghast, and she pleaded with me to not go through with the legal name change. I couldn't help but laugh. You would have too. Not only was my mother Margaret, Pearl, Sharon, and now Margaret again (I keep Sharon--the woman who raised me--alive by giving Sharon a Christmas present every year from Santa and if you see the irony in that, you get 10 points), but my brother Michael (the 4th most popular male name the year he was born) was ostensibly named after my father Mike, er, Frenchie, er, Marion (Dad's legal name). My mother's reason for recommending that I not go through with a legal name change was that neither she nor my Dad legally changed their names. True, but their names were not written incorrectly on their birth certificates.

As I cast about for a new name (Dawn being too close for comfort to my old name), I settled on Claire because my father's name was Marion Clair. Dad was unconditionally loving and also the sort of fellow you couldn't help but like. Affable, unassuming, reliable, loyal, quick with a smile, a dear soul. Indeed, among my mother and her sisters, my father was referred to in this way, "No one could ever hold a candle to our dear Da 'cept your Da." Naming myself Claire seemed like a swell way to honor my past (that is, honor my Dad and the unconditional love I received) while looking to the future with a name that fit me and suited my last name better.

What's in a name? Well, if your parents named you (and perhaps even if you named yourself), the answer is likely LOVE.


Dedication: This essay is dedicated to my Dad and my cousin Isobel who shared a special bond with her Uncle Mike. 

 

Today is Isobel's birthday.

Happy Birthday Isy!

And on this, your special day, may you remember all the parental love that went into your naming. 

Sending love from across the miles, 

Claire xoxoxoxoxo