My Humanity

My battle with Mary’s new identity rages on. She is determined to become “Elisabeth.” I talked with her about this while tucking her in last night. She began to cry, saying she didn’t want to hurt my feelings, she just hates her given name. She’s only six!

Anyway, I sat there as she sobbed, doing the cry-hiccup thing, explaining to me that she has hated her name since she was four. Really? She said she didn’t know that she hated it when she was three, but definitely knew she liked Elisabeth better by the time she was four. Huh.

I told her I would try to get on board, but it would be hard. She said she would be patient with me and remind me when I forget to use her new name. She was a little concerned that she will no longer have a middle name, but decided that Mary would be best as her new middle name. I think she’s offering up this concession to placate me. Kids!

All of this name business reminded me of a name related experience I had when I was, hmmm, lets see, six! Read on for the drama 🙂

 Mrs. Thomas-Jones, my first grade teacher, couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that my first name was just plain Tina. She would ask everyday while taking roll, “Are you sure you’re name isn’t Christina?” At first, this was just a routine interrogation. By mid-year, it became a full out attack. I decided I’d had enough. One day, I looked her square in the eye, as if to say, “You’re right, I’ve been living in denial far too long!”  I took a deep breath, moistened my six-year-old lips and falsely confessed that my full name really was indeed Christina. Finally, I thought, the monkey is off my back! Well, that was, until my mom found out. I was forced to own up to my lie, which left me stuck with plain Tina.

 Thus began the hatred and resentment of my fist name, as well as the nicknames that came with it. I’ve been called Teeny Weeny by my grandfather, Tina Bologna by my father, The Teener by my mother-in-law, and Tina Beena by many others. I dreamed of being called Jennifer, Stephanie, Rebecca and other popular names from the early seventies.

 Why Tina? My mom answered this question when I was pregnant with my first child. As expectant mothers do, I purchased a monstrous baby name book, knowing that my firstborn’s name was hidden inside, waiting to be discovered. Mom informed me it was my father who gave me my name. This surprised me, as I assumed it was the sole job of mothers to bestow their daughter’s moniker. The explanation that followed began to change the way I saw that four letter word.

 When my dad was a little boy, he had a dream. In this dream, he was a grown man. He was married to a beautiful lady with blonde hair. She was round with his child, knowing it would be a baby girl. In his dream, his daughter’s name was Tina. So, when all of that came to pass, dad felt it was destiny to see the reality of the dream to fruition. I became known as Tina Lyn (after my mother).

My parents were proud of my name, and often felt hurt when I would complain about their contribution to my identity. I didn’t realize the importance this had for them. I was selfish, never happy with what I was given, until the day I found a name worse than mine. From now on, when I find myself wishing I had a more elegant and sophisticated name, I pause and reflect. At least my name isn’t Manmeet!