Everyone else in my family has a story behind their name-- or a connection to someone living or dead. And then there was me. I finally asked my mom--she’s 83-- “I don’t know, just kind of liked it.” I mean, I like my name and I guess I’m grateful she didn’t have a wild hair for something really atrocious-- but a little unnerving.
I hate my name. I spent my entire kindergarten year convincing my kindergarten teacher I knew how to pronounce my own name. I was a competitive figure skater and so spent more time having my name "announced" than perhaps the average person. The announcer always said my name incorrectly, so on tape, you can hear my mother cheering with my name pronounced correctly! We attempted spelling it with two n's in mid-elementary school to see it made a difference. It didn't. Once I moved on to university, I had to decide whether I wanted to have two n's or one. I chose one, even though I had two during most of my childhood. Some of my friends thought it meant I was "shedding" my hs school life and I had to have some serious discussions about it. I seriously considered changing my name to Mary. I thought Mary was a strong name that would never be mispronounced, but since my mom was in high school when I was born, I decided it would be hurtful to her, so I didn't change it. My oldest ended up coming much earlier than expected so we hadn't agreed on a name. I remember when the nurse asked, "Do you have a name chosen?" And my husband said, "Lauren Brook" and I felt like it was the perfect name. We were both in so much shock that I had a baby and definitely hadn't agreed on a name, but it seemed like the perfect name. In fact, while she was still in the NICU, I walked to the library from the hospital to pick up books and one of them was a big book of baby names! I told them I didn't need it because my baby came so early. I have a better appreciation of my name now, but I think about my oldest and many of her friends. Many of them go by different names than they were given at birth and I have a lot of interest in what names mean when we give children agency. What is our responsibility as parents?
Love this story! And love your name origin. It's funny how many different places names can come from...serious, religious, family, random....
I always appreciated the unique nature of my name but nobody had heard of Lord of the Rings in the 80's/90's other than people my parents' age...so for a long time, I really wished my name was Katie LOL. I even named my Cabbage Patch doll Katie. I now appreciate my name even though people still say it/spell it wrong - first and last. But, it's ok. I know who I am ;)
Can't wait to find out the name of Baby Braun-Forte!!
My mother’s older sister was named LaDonna, and mom was one of four Barbaras in her class.
My older sister was named LaDonna after my aunt. Mom was determined that little sister would have an equally unusual and beautiful name. They named me Lucinda, which means brilliant light.
My mom’s family immediately started to call me “Lucy.” I Love Lucy was the most popular television show at the time, and my parents hated the idea that I would be associated with a GOOF BALLl!!! They started calling me Cindy almost from the day I was born. Turns out that Cynthia was one of the most popular girls' names in 1958, so I ended up with both an ordinary name and an unusual name. I love both names.
Unbeknownst to my parents, my uncle had a pot-bellied pig named “Lucinda.” Uncle Don always liked to tease me that I was named after a pig.
I can’t help but notice that Lucinda is a little bit of a combination between Lucas and Lindsey.
I had a love-hate relationship with my surname growing up. It was constantly misspelled, mispronounced, and misfiled. It comes from the German for “Eastern landowner/farmer” referring to the part of Germany my ancestors emigrated from. I have only rarely (two times in my so far 40 years) crossed paths with a “random” Osterbur, and both times we could trace our shared roots back to the small rural community in east central Illinois where my Dad grew up. There, a full page of Osterburs fills the church directory and the cemetery has rows of headstones bearing the name. When I got married, it was important to me to both keep my surname and share a family name with my spouse. That has caused a lot of administrative headaches because no one knows what to do with two last names that aren’t hyphenated, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. :)
My name was given by my older brother who had a little nursery school friend named Sheena Campbell. The story goes that because my mother is a Scot of the Mackenzie clan, the family could not use the Campbell (the clan that sided with England in the 18th century), but they did like the name Sheena, a Gaelic version of Jane. Then they just added Alison as a middle name from who knows where. I've always liked that my name was distinguishable from more common names. It wouldn't be in Scotland though.
Now, our sons were named Jolyon (old English version of Julian - youthful, downy-bearded) Baraka (Swahili for blessing) and Akili (Swahili for thoughtful, intelligent), Kayin (Swahili for long hoped for), Bakari (Swahili for of noble promise). Interesting that the new baby giraffe at the Des Moines Zoo is Bakari as well. And Baraka is a variation of Barack. Akili was born three years later than we had hoped.
I’ve been told that I was named after King David, but my middle name is more interesting. Apparently, my parents had difficulty with conception and my mom had several miscarriages before and after me. As a good Roman Catholic woman, she requested the intervention of the patron saint of expectant mothers: Saint Gerard, a French Redemptorist brother. That being the case, my younger brother and I have the middle name Gerard. I recently discovered a newsletter, probably from 1958 or so where my brother and I are pictured. Apparently there is/was a society for devotees to St Gerard.
Everyone else in my family has a story behind their name-- or a connection to someone living or dead. And then there was me. I finally asked my mom--she’s 83-- “I don’t know, just kind of liked it.” I mean, I like my name and I guess I’m grateful she didn’t have a wild hair for something really atrocious-- but a little unnerving.
I hate my name. I spent my entire kindergarten year convincing my kindergarten teacher I knew how to pronounce my own name. I was a competitive figure skater and so spent more time having my name "announced" than perhaps the average person. The announcer always said my name incorrectly, so on tape, you can hear my mother cheering with my name pronounced correctly! We attempted spelling it with two n's in mid-elementary school to see it made a difference. It didn't. Once I moved on to university, I had to decide whether I wanted to have two n's or one. I chose one, even though I had two during most of my childhood. Some of my friends thought it meant I was "shedding" my hs school life and I had to have some serious discussions about it. I seriously considered changing my name to Mary. I thought Mary was a strong name that would never be mispronounced, but since my mom was in high school when I was born, I decided it would be hurtful to her, so I didn't change it. My oldest ended up coming much earlier than expected so we hadn't agreed on a name. I remember when the nurse asked, "Do you have a name chosen?" And my husband said, "Lauren Brook" and I felt like it was the perfect name. We were both in so much shock that I had a baby and definitely hadn't agreed on a name, but it seemed like the perfect name. In fact, while she was still in the NICU, I walked to the library from the hospital to pick up books and one of them was a big book of baby names! I told them I didn't need it because my baby came so early. I have a better appreciation of my name now, but I think about my oldest and many of her friends. Many of them go by different names than they were given at birth and I have a lot of interest in what names mean when we give children agency. What is our responsibility as parents?
Love this story! And love your name origin. It's funny how many different places names can come from...serious, religious, family, random....
I always appreciated the unique nature of my name but nobody had heard of Lord of the Rings in the 80's/90's other than people my parents' age...so for a long time, I really wished my name was Katie LOL. I even named my Cabbage Patch doll Katie. I now appreciate my name even though people still say it/spell it wrong - first and last. But, it's ok. I know who I am ;)
Can't wait to find out the name of Baby Braun-Forte!!
My mother’s older sister was named LaDonna, and mom was one of four Barbaras in her class.
My older sister was named LaDonna after my aunt. Mom was determined that little sister would have an equally unusual and beautiful name. They named me Lucinda, which means brilliant light.
My mom’s family immediately started to call me “Lucy.” I Love Lucy was the most popular television show at the time, and my parents hated the idea that I would be associated with a GOOF BALLl!!! They started calling me Cindy almost from the day I was born. Turns out that Cynthia was one of the most popular girls' names in 1958, so I ended up with both an ordinary name and an unusual name. I love both names.
Unbeknownst to my parents, my uncle had a pot-bellied pig named “Lucinda.” Uncle Don always liked to tease me that I was named after a pig.
I can’t help but notice that Lucinda is a little bit of a combination between Lucas and Lindsey.
I had a love-hate relationship with my surname growing up. It was constantly misspelled, mispronounced, and misfiled. It comes from the German for “Eastern landowner/farmer” referring to the part of Germany my ancestors emigrated from. I have only rarely (two times in my so far 40 years) crossed paths with a “random” Osterbur, and both times we could trace our shared roots back to the small rural community in east central Illinois where my Dad grew up. There, a full page of Osterburs fills the church directory and the cemetery has rows of headstones bearing the name. When I got married, it was important to me to both keep my surname and share a family name with my spouse. That has caused a lot of administrative headaches because no one knows what to do with two last names that aren’t hyphenated, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. :)
My name was given by my older brother who had a little nursery school friend named Sheena Campbell. The story goes that because my mother is a Scot of the Mackenzie clan, the family could not use the Campbell (the clan that sided with England in the 18th century), but they did like the name Sheena, a Gaelic version of Jane. Then they just added Alison as a middle name from who knows where. I've always liked that my name was distinguishable from more common names. It wouldn't be in Scotland though.
Now, our sons were named Jolyon (old English version of Julian - youthful, downy-bearded) Baraka (Swahili for blessing) and Akili (Swahili for thoughtful, intelligent), Kayin (Swahili for long hoped for), Bakari (Swahili for of noble promise). Interesting that the new baby giraffe at the Des Moines Zoo is Bakari as well. And Baraka is a variation of Barack. Akili was born three years later than we had hoped.
I’ve been told that I was named after King David, but my middle name is more interesting. Apparently, my parents had difficulty with conception and my mom had several miscarriages before and after me. As a good Roman Catholic woman, she requested the intervention of the patron saint of expectant mothers: Saint Gerard, a French Redemptorist brother. That being the case, my younger brother and I have the middle name Gerard. I recently discovered a newsletter, probably from 1958 or so where my brother and I are pictured. Apparently there is/was a society for devotees to St Gerard.