My odd addiction

I can’t remember a time in my life where I wasn’t fascinated with names. It’s more than a fascination though, it’s almost an obsession or addiction. I remember learning all my friends middle names, even back in elementary school. I also learned the middle name of any guy I liked. It made me feel powerful in a way to know someone’s full name.

Name books are fascinating to me: to learn the origin and meaning of names.

Names bring both power and meaning to the person they belong to.

Erin probably was the earliest witness to my obsession. The poor soul endured many trips up the elementary school so I could look at the newly posted class lists. Most kids liked looking at the class lists to see who their teacher would be, and who their classmates were.  I liked that too, but I also loved learning all my classmates middle names. Weird, huh.

Erin is also my best enabler. Feeding me new and foreign names she comes across. Names I would never consider giving a child, yet are so appealing at the same time. (Let’s face it. Everyone would look at me weird if I named my son Javier or Alejandro. My complexion is too pale.)

Choosing what name to give my children is very intense for me. I want them to have the perfect name. And so I stew over names. I make lists of names I adore, of names I admire but will never use, and sentimental names that Scott will never agree to. (Can you blame him for not wanting to name our children Howard or Wilhelmina?)

Last week, I began to wonder, have I decided how many children I want to have based on my own physical, mental and emotional capabilities or on the list of names I want to use?  Would I be happy if I didn’t use one of the names I’ve created? After all. Isn’t a name just a name. Does it really govern someone’s personality?

How would my life have changed if my parents’ had given me a different name?