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By any other name, would we be who we are?
“What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'
'Cats don't have names,' it said.
'No?' said Coraline.
'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.” ― Neil Gaiman, Coraline
Hello,
I asked. You answered. I am grateful. I heard from so many of you last week with thoughtful responses to my survey questions and, even better, imaginative, thoughtful names with which to christen our new dog. I’ll share the survey findings with you next week. If you haven’t had a chance and want to offer your two cents, there is still time. Just click this link:
So Many Names, Too Few Dogs
As for our puppy: her name is now - cue heralding trumpets -- is Frida Persephone Mango Marro, AKA Velcro Girl. We will call her Frida. Or Frida K. Or Freddie. Or Mango. I’m sure she’ll be called a lot of other (fond) names as we get to know her better. We’ll have plenty to choose from: we received 73 suggestions plus we had a few of our own. Several popped up more than once: Cora, Dulce, Mango, Sparky, and Velcro. Others caught us wondering why we were so stuck in our little rut: Onion, Burbank, Butterscotch, Luxie (short for Electrolux). I loved Charlie for some reason, a feeling unshared by my partner.
The whole process got me thinking about names - the importance we give to them and the outright hubris it takes to impose a name on another living being. A little dog doesn’t much care. Like the cat in Coraline, our little four-legged knows perfectly well who she is. We are the ones who feel compelled to christen her, to make her ours. I felt the same responsibility and thrill/frisson of power when I was pregnant all those years ago and spent hours debating names with my first husband. We both agreed that we didn’t want to name the baby after anyone in our families -- we both had been namesakes. At best, that route lacked imagination. At worst, carrying the name of someone else hemmed us in before either of us knew who we were.
My husband was named after his father. My name was a consolation prize for my aunt who, at eleven, was deemed too young to be a bridesmaid in my mother’s wedding. My mom promised her she would make up for it by naming her first girl after her. Nine months and 13 days later, I was born and soon after became Elizabeth Ann also known as Betsy, like my aunt. At one point I remember asking my mother if we could just please make my name a little fancier by adding an “e” at the end of Ann or before the “y” in Betsy. Nothing came of it. I believed that if I had a different name, I’d be a different person, or at least seen differently by others.
In my clan, the name Elizabeth Ann crops up like crabgrass, persistent and pervasive. There is my aunt, my cousin, a stepsister. My first husband’s mother bore the name as did his second wife. All three of us go by Betsy. Make of that what you will.
I was looking forward to being confirmed because, at 12 or 13, I could choose my own confirmation name. I chose Francis. Then, two days before the ceremony a boy in my class told me I had to pick a female saint’s name, not a male’s. On top of that, I had chosen a male sponsor. He was right. The parish priest had screwed up. The Bishop had to be consulted. He let me keep the name (grudgingly) but not the sponsor.
As furious as I was at the time, this dustup was insignificant compared to the struggles of people who are trapped by names they were given at birth based on what their parents saw of their bodies and the culture into which they were born. Every time I read stories like these brief accounts of trans and nonbinary people who changed their names I am struck all over again by the power of a name to trap or to free the bearer.
I wonder about the story that lies behind each name. We’ve all got one, even if it seems unremarkable. What is yours?
How did you get your name? Does your name feel like a pair of comfortable, well-worn shoes or a shirt that pinches when you raise your arms? Have you ever thought of changing you it? If you are married, did you take any part of your spouse’s name?
Long Read: The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Coincidentally, a trailer for the movie The Namesake popped up this week when we were looking through one of the streaming services for movies to watch. The movie is based on the unforgettable novel by Jhumpa Lahiri about a family, a name, and journey from India to America that began when the father almost died in a train wreck. He was saved when the rescuers saw the flutter of a page from the book of short stories by Nikolai Gogol still clasped in his hand. When his son was born in an American hospital and the letter from his Bengali grandmother containing the “good” name she’d chosen for his child went missing in the mail, he named his child Gogol, as a placeholder, a pet name, because to leave a child unnamed in America led to more bureaucratic hassle than the two new parents wanted.
The story is so rich, so beautifully told. And the story of that name which the bearer is stuck with no matter what he tries to do about it is also the story of how he comes to understand his parents and his own life. I just bought a copy of this beautiful book to re-read over the Thanksgiving holiday. I am going to want to talk about it afterwards. If you loved this book or want to read/re-read it again, let me know how it strikes you. If you want to watch the movie over the holiday, you can find it on Hulu where there is a free trial period.
Short Reads: Not All Names Are Inherited
I went looking for some information and articles about naming traditions and found some fascinating ones. The traditions of Native Americans have always varied by tribe. Yet, there appears to be a shared understanding of the uniqueness and importance of a name. As in The Namesake, there are the names used for every day or the ones used to satisfy modern requirements but the “real” name may be years in coming. The real name needs to be unique, not shared with others. A close friend or an elder may select or gift the name -- parents are often considered too biased. There is a ceremony when the name and the person are bonded forever. I imagine that moment as a kind of rebirth.
This brief BBC article, “Africa’s Naming Traditions: 9 Ways to Name Your Child,” highlights all the ways different Africans approach the naming of a child and how those names inform others of everything from their parents’ mood at the time, to the order of their birth, to the day of the week they were born.
And until I saw this article about Western European traditions, I never realized there was a kind of built-in algorithm that made choosing names simply a matter of matching birth order with specific, well-used names already in the family tree.
While we’re on the subject, what about these names?
Once we get away from people's names, things get interesting. For years, I’ve been captivated by how some business names are perfect and others, well, make you kind of wonder. There is a hair salon a few towns over from where I used to live in New Jersey. It is called The Guillotine. It is fancy, in a brick building and no one, to my knowledge, has ever lost their entire head there. Still, I would not risk it for myself. Ditto for a couple of local salons: The Electric Chair, and Kut-A-Beauty which are probably just fine but somehow all I can think of is the smell of charred flesh at one and the serial killer who may be wielding the scissors at the other.
My sister once lived Number 9 Dream Island. And my cousins once lived near a street called Skunk’s Misery. Stories live in these names. I hope to write them.
That’s it for this week. Thank you again for your support, your great feedback, and all those names. Fair warning: I am keeping all of them and have added every single one to my database of character names — for people and four-leggeds. You will see them again.
I’ll see you next week. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with the food you like, people you love, memories you cherish, health, and happiness. If you’re looking for a good book don’t forget The Namesake. You’ll find it at the Spark Community Recommendations Page at bookshop.org along with lots of other choices.
Ciao for now,
Betsy
P.S. And now, your moment of Zen…finding peace in a memory
From Robert Howard: It’s 1946 and here I am with Pop, my maternal grandfather, Mum, and my uncle Sid. Seventy-five years I am the only one alive, but that isn’t quite true. They all live in my head, and I write about them here.
Calling for Your Contribution to “Moment of Zen”
What is YOUR moment of Zen? Send me your photos, a video, a drawing, a song, a poem, or anything with a visual that moved you, thrilled you, calmed you. Or just cracked you up. This feature is wide open for your own personal interpretation.
Come on, go through your photos, your memories or just keep your eyes and ears to the ground and then share. Send your photos/links, etc. to me by replying to this email or simply by sending to: elizabethmarro@substack.com. The main guidelines are probably already obvious: don’t hurt anyone -- don’t send anything that violates the privacy of someone you love or even someone you hate, don’t send anything divisive, or aimed at disparaging others. Our Zen moments are to help us connect, to bond, to learn, to wonder, to share -- to escape the world for a little bit and return refreshed.
I can’t wait to see what you send!
(And if you’ve gotten here, liked something, and still haven’t hit the heart below, now’s your chance! )
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My birth name and the one I carried for ~39 years was, at best, a compromise.
My father was going through one of those "OH MY IRISH PEOPLE! OH THE AULD SOD!" phases that is mandatory for every pudgy white guy--we aren't even Irish, the last name is very English, going back to the Romans landing on the island of Britain, so possibly more Italian than Irish if you want to go THAT far back, and I have done the geneaology all the way back to our ancestors getting off the boat from England, we are not Irish, but lord almighty I had to go to many Celtic Fests--and wanted to give me some long Gaelic name with lots of vowels.
No offense to Irish people or people with long Gaelic names with lots of vowels but I suspect that would've been even less fun in the rural South than the name I wound up with.
When he was out of the room, my mother scribbled down the name on the birth certificate she thought was Irish enough to be semi-normal: Shannon Patrick and sent it off, so that was my name. Unfortunately it was a "girl's name" by that point and that wasn't a lot of fun at all. I never really liked it and it didn't sound like me.
I don't remember what inspired it, but I'd fallen out with my entire family and was approaching my 40th birthday and had had my life collapse and I'd managed to rebuild it. Everything felt like a new start. I was musing one day with my wife that I was stuck with this goddamn name that I didn't like and didn't have anything to do with the people who'd given it to me and that was ridiculous and I should just change it. She said "Oh yeah, do it!"
It sounds silly but I hadn't even really thought about that as an option before? I floated the idea with my friend group and the trans folks were like YES DO IT PICK YOUR OWN NAME A NAME THAT YOU LIKE IT IS THE BEST TAKE IT FROM US.
So I looked into it and it was kind of a paperwork hassle, but it wasn't *hard*.
(The actual process is basically like a quest in a roleplaying game, like "proceed to the courthouse then go to this office and go to this office and talk to this person then go back to this office and turn in THIS then get THIS and bring it to...").
In my state, you actually file civil suit on the prosecutor's office, so I got to march in and hand the paperwork to the lady at the desk like YOU GOT SERVED. (She was very nice and I was of course polite but it was amusing. YEAH! YOU ARE SUED!).
One of the people I follow on Twitter is a guy always talking about the American Civil War and, like most men approaching Dad Age, that's one of my special interests. One day he was talking about General George Henry Thomas. He was one of the Union generals and isn't as well known as Grant and Sherman, but he was known as The Sledge of Nashville for his performance there and arguably his performance enabled Sherman *to* make the March to the Sea.
The more I looked into it, the more the guy seemed perfect:
Semi-obscure Civil War general? Check
Union? YES CHECK GOOD LORD
I play bass and have always been content in a supporting role? Check
His nickname was "Old Pap" because he took care of his dudes and my nickname was "Pappy" due to my homespun, folksy wisdom? Check
He shunned self-promotion? Check
Family shunned him? CHECK
Nickname "The Sledge of Nashville"? Metal!
Literally had a stroke and died writing an angry letter in response to a guy that criticized him? I probably will die this way yes.
I'm not a George, I knew that right off. But looking at it, I could flip it around.
Thomas: Good first name, easy nickname. Also, lapsed Catholic, being Thomas the Doubter tickled me. I would absolutely be like "Okay, Jesus, but you know I gotta see for myself." Would absolutely do my own thing and wander off to India. Also Aquainus. A+ name.
Henry: I feel for a guy, a middle name needs to be a grandpa name. (These are just my personal rules). A+ Grandpa name.
I wanted something Raven or Crow themed for my last name because goth as hell obv but also corvids are tricksters (Same) and goofballs (Same) but they will also be your friends if you make friends with them (same) but if you cross them, they will always remember your face and hassle you and tell all their friends (I have a long list of grudges and burned bridges). So I found this English surname that not a lot of people had and it sounded cool and the motto on one dubious family history site was "God feeds the ravens," which is my kind of bleak and funny. A+ motto, A+ surname.
Very happy with my decision, glad I did it, wish I'd thought of it sooner. I feel like my old name was something that was given to me but never really fit. Like when you buy a pair of shoes and, you know, they're fine and do okay. But then you put on a pair and they just *fit* like you had a cobbler make them custom and you didn't even know shoes could fit like that anymore.
I love this story and that picture of little you! My given name is Joan, but I have no idea why my parents chose it. But I'm pretty sure my dad was hoping for a boy and nicknamed me "Joey" which stuck in my family and friends circle. I still prefer to be called Joey.