It’s all in a (nick)name

6

May 31, 2014 by readlisaread

I spend a lot of time thinking about identity and titles.  It’s probably a part of the human experience in general, but somehow I feel that women deal more profoundly with what or how they are “called”. Ain’t no holla-back girl.

Growing up, I never liked my name. There are a number of reasons why, but I realize the emotional connection to it now as well.  Firstly, my given name is Lisa (isn’t that a magical turn of phrase: “Given Name”. The second gift, after life, that your parents give you….and yet we can be quite cavalier in our treatment of it). Now, as it turns out, “Lisa” was the single most popular girl’s name in 1965. Throughout my entire 12 years of school, there was never less than 2 other Lisa’s in my class, at any given time.  So problem #1 was that I never felt unique, I never felt my name was special. And why did I tie my whole identity so firmly to a name? Perhaps it has to do with belonging… (stay with me, dear reader, I know I just said I wanted to be unique, but now I want to belong? I’m getting there….).  In my immediate family, I had some opportunities to be “the only”: the only girl (but then my brother was the only boy); the youngest (but then, big bro was also the oldest); the only one whose name did not start with a “J”, like everyone else…..oh……ouch. We would get Christmas cards addressed to J,J,J plus Lisa.  Or even J3 &L…. or J’s and Lisa…. Definitely, One of These Things Didn’t Belong here. To make it worse, my mom told me the story of my name, and how she had a whole other name picked out, one that was unique and non-gender-specific and pretty cool– like my brother’s name–but, then, since she had gotten quite a lot of flack from her mom about the unconventional tag she’d given my brother, she thought she better dial down the unique for me.  Maybe prissy it up a bit. Maybe find a name that was new and modern, and just my own.  Which is what she did… unfortunately, so must have 1/2 of all other mothers everywhere, and arrived at the same destination:  Lisaville, population: Every other girl born in 1965.

So, then I craved a Nick Name. There were “pet” names in my family, but nothing ever stuck as, again, a unique nick-name all my own.  For some reason, I tried to adopt the nick-name “Smedley” in the 7th grade (no idea why) and I tried a full-court press to get my parents to legally change my name (to “Amber”).  Both campaigns failed.

Eventually, I stopped putting so much importance on my name- after all, a rose by any other?–and accepted the fact that I just wasn’t a nick-namey sort of person. Some of my in-laws took to calling me “Lis”, and that always sounded better to me, still my name, but “zhuzhed” up a bit.

And eventually, grad school happened. And at the age of 40, I got my first real, and it still sticks to this day, nick-name: Puck.  In the Shakespeare sense, not the hockey sense.  Because of my trouble-making, mischievous ways, apparently. And while there are still a few people on the planet that call me Puck, it’s never spilled over into any other part of my life.

Fast forward a few years, and after having worked a dozen years teaching elementary school, I moved to a Middle School.  Life was different there, and the culture had its own identity– for one thing, the staff were all Pirates, and we all called each other by our last names.  So, even though Read is still my name, and it’s my married name, to boot, it still counts as a nick-name.  But then I realized that wasn’t the point.  The point was about belonging. Like a badge, a uniform or a secret handshake, a nick name or a code name says You Are One of Us. “Hey Read” is much more likely to make me grin than “Hey Lisa” will.

So now, in my mid-forties, I suddenly have a variety of identities. Lisa, Lis, Mrs. Read, Puck, Read… and then… all the Mommy nick names my kids have called me over the years.  That is a different sort of belonging– that is more like title that stakes a claim, rather than invites. But in the very best of ways. Mom is a value and responsibility-laden nick-name, an identity– it means much more than “This is what I call you” it means “This is what you ARE, and you are MY mom”

All of my names were worth waiting for. They represent me through my whole life. They tell me I do, in fact, belong.


6 comments »

  1. Mom says:

    Sorry about the name, “dotter”! You should have been “Dallas” as your father and I wanted. However, in those days I was still too much under the thumb of a very domineering mother. ( It took me into my late 30’s-early 40’s to break free.) My name was so very common in my generation that in school I was just one of a crowd. (Five Joans in some of my high school classes.) Indeed in my first job I was the third Joan in a staff of seven women so they called me by my first name which I REALLY don’t like! We did try for another J but couldn’t find one that wasn’t used by 16 other people, or people we didn’t like, or…or…or. Just couldn’t find a J that fit a dear little girl. When we brought you home from the hospital (in those days after a week or more) you still weren’t named! We really thought “Lisa” was different – hadn’t heard the name, didn’t know anyone by that name, and it went well with Winfrey. You have always been unique to me so Lisa Winfrey Read by any name is still very special!

  2. readlisaread says:

    Thanks mom 🙂

  3. Vera Read says:

    HAH! loved this one, Lisa. First of all the Smedley nickname – that was the name of my beloved tabby cat who was almost 18 yrs old. I had the name picked out for years & it didn’t matter, male or female that was gonna be the name. Secondly, I was always mad my name was soooo uncommon,,,in all my years at school there were only 2 other Veras. It was impossible to find anythong with my name on it – no mugs, keychains, pen with that name! My sister had the same problem -Ursel – so at least I was not alone. When I asked Mom why Vera, she loved the movie actress from the 50′ 60’s Vera Ellen….. so that is my name ist & 2nd!!!!

  4. readlisaread says:

    Thank you for reading, Vera, and how appropriate that YOU should comment, considering our own connection!

  5. Bernaie Read says:

    I grew up in Eastern (French) Canada with the name Bernadette (I once found ONE key chain, in Montreal). When I was young, I was often called Dedette by my family (some of whom still call me that).

    At age 10, we moved to Western (English) Canada, and my name was shortened to “Bernie” (which I hated).

    When I was 18 or 19, working in a Coles Bookstore, a young man I worked with decided one day to call me Berna, simply cutting off the “dette”… but that sounded really harsh, so halfway through the day, I said it wasn’t working, and that I didn’t like that hard ‘A’ so he changed to Bernaie… and we decided to spell it like Bernie with an ‘A’.

    A few years later, I moved back to the East coast, and although people who’d known me as a child couldn’t find their way to call me Bernaie, they did finally shorten the Bernie (~shudder~) to Bern. I then enrolled in a small, East Coast university and asked if they would allow me to call myself Bernaie, and they did! I was very happy there for a year. But when I moved back home a year later, it was back to Bern.

    Years later, I moved to Montreal, where my younger brother had been for a year before me, and for the first time in my life I was HIS sister… and, of course, they all called me Bern. ~sigh~

    While there, I met a lovely woman at church, who had me over for a chat and tea once a week. One day, I told her that it bothered me that no one called me Bernaie, and she asked me about my name. That Sunday, she got up during announcements at the end of the service, and asked everyone to turn to the back page of the bulletin and read her announcement… and asked me to stand up! She explained that I had renamed myself Bernaie about 10 years before, but that no one called me that, so she was officially announcing that Bern would heretofore be known as Bernaie.

    When I got a job at a hospital in Montreal about 7 years ago (then in my mid forties), I landed back on my original name because French speaking co-workers would pronounce Bernaie like Bernie and I couldn’t stand it! So I was back to Bernadette!

    So, here I am, 53 years old, and I now use my “real” name, Bernadette, for work. And my nickname, Bernaie, is for family and friends!

  6. readlisaread says:

    What a terrific (and frustrating!) story, Bernaie! Thank you for sharing. Isn’t it amazing how much value we attach to what we are called? What a sweet thing for your friend to do in church! Thanks for reading!

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