What's in a Name

One of Shakespeare's fair maidens once wondered "What's in a name?" and of course, in true curious creature form- that got me thinking too.  My answer- a bit more complex than dear Juliet's soliloquy – seems to depend greatly on the person associated with said name and its placement in their full name composition. 

Most people are given at least a first, middle, and last name upon their birth.  We don’t have a choice in their selection or arrangement.  We are stuck, destined in a round-about way to become the person our parents prescribed us to be.  Even through our
best personal attempts at individuality, our name is the traditional badge that defines us.  It is the primary introduction of ourselves to others, and the lasting impression that will eventually provide a judgmental reference others (as well as ourselves) will use to measure the character of others we encounter with similar namesakes.  Do you think I am being harsh by making such a claim?  Do I really think we judge each other by the mere unfortunate and uncontrollable placement of a name?  I do.  Think about your own experience.  Have you ever just not liked someone because of their name?  “I never get along with Tiffany’s.  Mary’s are boring.  Jane’s are plain.  Paul’s are practical.”  I’d bet money there are people you dislike simply through a generalized association with their particular given name.  Let’s discuss this further, shall we?  You can tell me how wrong I am at the end of our discourse. 

Speaking of the end – let’s start there, with the last name.  It is a mutable feature, changeable through marriage and family ties – yes, I’ve seen men adopt the lady’s last name after their nuptials; let’s not pretend to be old fashioned here!  In my experience, last names provide mild familial traits usually dependent upon genealogical quirks.  If I look to myself – I have had 4 last names, none of which I truly identify with.   My birth-given family name wears like an itchy wool coat—a proper English name that reeks of my father’s all too stoic and semi-psychotic nature.  The rigidity of our relationship created a rift that kept me at an arm’s length from forming a lasting attachment to it [the name, in this reference].  My first married name was a rough Germanic form.  I felt too heavy for my liking and as such I never lingered under it long enough to get accustomed to its weight.  My current last name is one I hold quite dear; one that I fear failing to be worthy to wear.  It is a traditional Irish name – blessed upon me by a handsome, decent, kind, and loving man.  It is delicate and proud – like a magical mithril garment.  My uncoordinated and crude attempts at adornment always threaten to muddle its sheen, making me always feel as if it’s best left on the shelf.  The only last name association I’ve ever felt comfortable pulling over my head, was my mother’s maiden name – a Hungarian name that melded courage and determination with a flexible strength that would allow me to stand with my own ungraceful confidence.  It was a name that I could drag through the puddles of my marred and muddy life and still rise with honor and integrity… a name that my half-blooded birth left me one generation short of assuming.  And so, for the inconsistent personal influence found in the sum of these names, you will find me here heralding only under the most static part of myself – Carol Jean, my birth-given first and middle name.         

 Our first name is the front that most of the world knows us by.  Paired with our middle name, they are static – typically accepted, often frowned upon (What were my parents thinking?), and many times passed down through generations despite its perceived oddity or plainness.  In the case of most male generational passed-down namesakes, the bequeathing does nothing to lend individual definition.  Rather it seeks only to provide a strengthened or enduring family lineage (Jr. to gain a Sr., III, V, VIII, etc…).  Most female namesakes are not typically bestowed sequentially upon each generation.  More often they are given to provide a fond remembrance of a favorite family member, or as dutiful gesture meant to recreate some past matriarchal greatness (Great-great-grandma Gertrude was a strong and pious woman who by the sweat of her back and keen faith delivered the family through the trials of the Civil War-- if offspring are in turn named Gertrude, they may be more likely to grow into some level of greatness as well).  When women are given these once-generationally-great, now old-fashioned names, they are often more cursed than blessed by their weighted strength – enduring their own trials of ritual schoolyard mockery and such, making them more prone to withdraw rather than aspire to future generational inspiration.    

I, myself, was bestowed a first and middle name based on loose generational inspiration.  “Carol” was apparently the name of my father’s favorite aunt.  I have never met this aunt, and my parents have never said anything about what made her uniquely fond, so I grew up remiss of a legend to live up to.  One name meaning association suggests that Carol represents a “little womanly one” – a potential badge that most definitely seemed to elude my character and physical being as I am nowhere near little, or womanly for that matter.  Another associated meaning suggests that Carol is a “song, or hymn.”  I assure you I can neither carry a tune (no matter how large of a bucket I use), nor keep a beat beyond the first two tines of a tempo.    

This individual mismatch to my given first name could be attributed to the haphazard addition of my middle name.  Middle names seem to me to be an exhausted afterthought of the intentional first name selection process.  Few tend to reference any importance or meanings associated with middle names – they are merely a second-rate attempt at flowing vocalized functioning.  The middle name selection process is often a negotiation tactic of the vying parental name game – a consolation prize given to the losing party.  It can also be a convenient place to half-heartedly incorporate the family formality of previously referenced dutiful genealogical contributions.  My middle name, “Jean”, is a compressed version of my father’s-father’s name- Eugene.  My brother was given its full form as his middle name, but I however was given its associated feminine match – just simply Jean.  Perhaps its mashed form – its masculine/feminism compressed confusion, lent enough oddity which made me more akin to branch out and find a way to become my own person?  Perhaps my parents unknowingly removed me from the restrictive rules of name association with its simple addition? 

It is my belief that the simplistic forms of my first and middle name, combined with their uncommitted and shallow genealogical associations, have indeed provided me with the freedom to break from any initial attempts of intended definition inherent in basic name-giving traditions to create a Carol Jean that is unique unto myself—for, I contend that once you have the opportunity to know me, you will soon understand that I am not like any other Carol or Jean that you may have previously been acquainted with.  Therefore, you shall find me here as my true self, without the restriction of defined full name— simply the me that I’ve worked all my life to be – Just Carol Jean.   

 

How do you feel about the you that you’ve become?  Do you feel that you are akin to your initial adornment?  Do your perceptions of your namesake differ from the intentions of your parents?  Is there another name that you feel suits yourself better?  Let’s talk about it – feel free to drop your thoughts below.