Valerie Veronica

I wonder about names. They seem so important to us.

Pretty much we choose names for our children before they are born. Some are named for saints. What a lovely thing. Or named after their parents. It is so interesting.

My mother had a few favorite names. Caroline and Dorothy were two, but she finally named me Gloria. She liked the name, and she liked naming me after a movie star. I was really named after Tante Fanny whose Jewish name was Gitte Fagel, and it became mine. It means either Good Bird or Golden Bird.

American Indians waited until the child’s personality and character revealed what the child’s name would be. Very poetic names, like One Who Brought Happiness or Beautiful Cloud or Tree That Grows Tall. I wonder what our names might have been.

That tradition seems so lovely, yet in modern days, it would depend a lot on who would name us. I am not sure that everyone would pick great names for us.

I knew a really loving mother who nicknamed her little boy Skunk. Maybe it was after a wonderful character in a book, I don’t know, but I could never understand why any mother would call her little boy Skunk!

It must make a difference what we are named.

It seems to me that there has been a rise in people changing their names. Around here someone will change their name to Ananda or Kartika at the blink of an eye. That takes guts.

There is a school of thought that according to the date of our birth, for our best evolution, our names would begin with a certain sound. In my case, it was the sound T as in Tatiana. Tatiana was the name I would have chosen if I were going to change it. Actually, I did play with it for a day or two.

I almost named my daughter Elizabeth, but then chose Lauren which was a rare name at the time. I, too, like my mother, knew the name because it was a movie star’s.

I remember once, when Lauren was about nine or ten, she was thinking deeply, and then looked up and asked me: “Why didn’t you name me Valerie Veronica?”

Valerie Veronica! Of course now, I’m sure she’s glad I didn’t.

Will you tell us the story of your name?

Posted by Gloria on September 17th, 2008 under these topics
Family Stories, Purely Personal, Godwriting Journal

Post Discussion

7 Replies

Reply from Charles Fines on September 17, 2008

I grew up as “Charley”, which means Little Charles, which distinguished me from my father who always was called Charles. His father was also named Charles, perhaps also his grandfather. Our middle names were different. No one has ever called me by my middle name, which is Orland, but it would have been a happier choice from the beginning.

I don’t like my name. It didn’t become a problem for me until I was grown up on my own. I lived within the American black culture for a number of years where it was customary to call a person by their given name rather than a nickname, so I went by “Charles” there. Most white folks find that name stuffy and too formal, and I do too except for official purposes. It bothers me to get a letter addressed to “Charley”.

It took many decades to start figuring out that being brought up as Little Charles was how my father expressed his need to control and belittle me which lasted until he drew his last breath. When I returned “home” in late adulthood to rescue the family business, I discovered that the newly built neighborhood had begun calling my father “Charley” and had no idea what to call me. Adding insult to injury, he had stolen my name. Many started calling me “Chuck”.

After my father died, I confronted some of these neighbors who I had caught stealing bushes out of a back field to landscape their yard. One of them said, “Well, Big Charley said it was all right.” “Big Charley is dead,” I yelled, “I’m Big Charley now!” Probably not one of my finest moments, but still keeps a strong satisfaction in my memory.

The name Charles means Man, in the same way that Adam does. I’m not really any of these names. They don’t fit me, they make me uncomfortable, and yet this is who I am. The unhappy history is part of me, and changing my name wouldn’t change any of that. Some of my friends know me as CO, Mexicans call me Carlos, but nothing really works. My first wife never knew what to call me, ended up not calling me anything.

I look forward to life on the other side for a number of reasons but high on the list is the hope that I will be given a name that fits. Can’t imagine what that might be, but part of me also keeps in mind that I might be expected to retain this difficulty at least until I get it figured out just who I am.

Reply from Nancy on September 17, 2008

I think it is so interesting how we relate to our names. I was called Nancy after an American friend of my parents. I however am English and in England ,at least since I have been alive Nancy is a very unusual name and something I have enjoyed , something I have always thought was a reminder of my and [our ] “unusualness”/uniqueness . However, had I lived in America where Nancy is not such an unusual name would I have grown up feeling different? interesting.

Reply from Gloria on September 17, 2008

Beloved Charles, you really have a name story to tell.
Shall we call you Orland here? Shall we?

God calls you Beloved.

Beloved Nancy, yes, how might our names affect us in different circumstances.

If I had named my daughter Elizabeth instead of Lauren, would she be different?

Reply from Nancy on September 18, 2008

Beloved Gloria,I think it is so interesting how we put so much importance on the naming of our children ,but after a very short time that name just seems to become that child and it’s the most natural thing in the world.My niece and nephew are called Sapphire and Gabriel ,quite unusual! but now so perfect for them they couldnt be called anything else. Who knows if your daughter would be different had she been called Elizabeth, but The Queen V Lauren Bacall who has more style?!

Reply from Jack van Raders on September 18, 2008

I was called Jaap Coming to N.Z. I was asked by a new friend How do you spell that? J a a p what Jape No make it Jack and it has been Jack since. What is in a Name anyway. Some people call me different names, not all complementary! Who Cares I certainly do not. Love you All Jack

Reply from Engin on September 19, 2008

Canim Gloria,

my name (Engin) is the maiden name of my mother. This was her invention! I mean giving me her ex-family name:)) It has a wondeful meaning, on the other hand it is a male name in general:))

Reply from Pam (fortheloveofGodde) on September 19, 2008

I read Nancy’s post with much laughter, as my story is a bit opposite. I was named “Pamela Rae” (the Rae to be a bit different than the usual Pamela Sue). What was considered a quite proper English name and was considered quite “snobbish” by my mom’s farm family (with names like Floyd, Loy, Ouida, Wilma, etc.). I never got that, though, since she was named Barbara Elizabeth.

I don’t know if I was named after a character in a gothic novel or from a favorite soap opera. I tend to think soap opera as she tried to nickname me “Pammy” early on. I hated Pammy and she soon stopped calling me that to my face, although I found out years later she called me Pammy when talking about me to others. I had a not-so-fine moment when one of these people innocently called me Pammy–I set them straight in a New York minute. With hurt feelings, she said, “I’m sorry. That’s what your mother calls you!” I felt very bad for hurting her feelings, yet very good at not worrying about being called “Pammy” ever again.

Actually, I have lots of fun with my name. Pamzilla is who comes out in either righteous or unrighteous anger. Pamramadama (ding-dong) is my email/blog/forum name. Pamela is for formal/business occasions. I’ve even had the nickname PamPam which started when I nicknamed a coworker JohnJohn. He was focused and usually we’d have to call his name twice to get his attention, so I just started calling him JohnJohn all the time. He thought it was funny and then, because I had the same tendency, he turned it back on me with PamPam. Soon everyone in the office picked up on it and we were JohnJohn and PamPam to them as well.

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