I used to be so sad that my name was Amy. That’s so boring! There are, like, seven hundred Amys everywhere. And even worse, my last name. No one can pronounce it. No one can spell it (every quarter in high school, I’d go to the office & correct the spelling of my name. I had to have it corrected on two achievement awards when I graduated.)
Now that I am a real-live grown-up (I must be, I’m contemplating both marriage & home ownership), I love my last name. It is interesting, and has a long, and sometimes glorious history. I like my first name. The only thing I don’t like is that apparently it is not short enough, and people feel the need to call me: “Aim.” I know it’s better than some of the nicknames I had in junior high: Squaw Running Yoda Chick (dark, slow, short & ugly, female – yeah, I know, my classmates were not clever), Curly Sioux Indian (after I got my perm – and before you ask? no, I don’t look even vaguely Native American), Dolly Parton (guess why!), Weekly Reader (that dates back to elementary school, and had something to do with my voracious reading habits). I’m sure there are others I’m (deliberately) forgetting, but you get the picture.
I look at names a lot, now. I look for potential donors, current donors, etc, and I have come across a few names that I am ecstatic to NOT have.
(actually, anything with a number & a pretentious name – I mean at that point in your life, what do you do? You can’t be the plumber. No one wants Curtis Irving Watson-Perry III unclogging their drains, do they? Wouldn’t you be suspicous? Wouldn’t you wonder why they were not an investment banker?)
Actually, I pretty much hate really pretentious sounding names, but that’s because I hate all rich people (unless you are rich & want to give me money, then you are my best friend. I would never make fun of your name, Uncle Winston. I think it’s cool that you have the same name as your great-great-great-great grandfather.)
However – last, and certainly not least…Regina Hyman. I feel for you Regina. Hee.