On Names
What's in one, anyway?
For a long time, I was embarrassed about the story behind my name.
Both of my brothers have names that are both biblical and tied directly to our family. Joshua David: warrior, judge, king, and named for our father and an uncle. Daniel Thomas: righteous prophet, survivor of lions, disciple, and named for another uncle.
The story behind my name is not so auspicious.
In college, sitting with another Lindsey and some other friends at a café, people started exchanging name stories. At first, I was hesitant, but the conversation was warm, and I got brave:
“Okay, so, when my mom was pregnant back in 1982 and ’83, there were no gender-reveal parties and ubiquitous ultrasounds. The doctor looked at how she was carrying me and what my heart rate was and told her to expect: a boy.
“So when I showed up late that April night, it was a SURPRISE!
“I’m not sure what they would have named me if I had been the boy they were expecting, but I know they weren’t ready with a girl name. But there was a popular show on TV around that time…”
At which point, the other Lindsey at the table interjected:
“The Bionic Woman!”
“Yes! And my dad really liked the lead actress whose name was…”
“Lindsay Wagner!”
“Yes! My parents changed the spelling to -E-y for phonetic ease, but the rest is history. Basically I was named after…”
“THE BIONIC WOMAN!! ME TOO!!!”
There was something about the energy of that telling about my name. Realizing that my story wasn’t met with weird energy or side eye, but with a kinship that was ready to finish my sentences because my story was hers…that changed something for me and in me. Suddenly, instead of feeling like I’d been randomly named after a TV actress, it was both hilarious and badass to say that I was named after the Bionic Woman. I started to embrace it. My name isn’t random. It’s silly and strong, unique in my family and also clearly part of the zeitgeist. It feels good to claim all of those things as a part of me.
Names and the stories that accompany them are so important. They tell us who we are, who claims us as family, and where we come from. Whether given to us at birth or claimed later to mark a new beginning through gender transition, marriage, or some other auspicious event.
Lucas and I don’t yet know the sex of our growing babú. Though we do have some inklings with the help of dreams and intuition. And so we’ve come up with some names (a short and shorter list) to help them know their story: who they are, who claims them as family, where they come from, and where they can always call home.
What names do you carry, dear reader? What claims and roots and identity do they help bestow? I’d love to hear your story!
Much love,
Lindsey
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?