Speaking of names . . . (SEAMLESS TRANSITION.)
My dear mother has a very popular name among middle-aged women; let's call her Spam. When she was pregnant with me, in 1994, she made a deal with my father: I could have his last name, if she could pick my first & middle names.
Since it's pretty clear who the dominant one in that relationship is, he agreed.
And thus, she decided to name me Lily Clare, both being her respective grandmothers' names. She, being naive and young (30 -- perhaps she was more naive than young, then), thought she could share this information with her friends, coworkers, and family.
Among the people she shared this top secret super confidential information with was her coworker, also named Spam. Who was also pregnant. (Now, we all know where this story is going, because we are not young and naive. My mother, however, who has never read chick-lit in her life and doesn't understand proper pregnancy defense mechanisms, did not.)
Spam stole the name Lily.
She had no relatives named Lily, no history with the name whatsoever. Nope, that name-stealer just liked those four little letters so much she felt she had to steal them from my poor hormonal mother. And what's worse? In the course of her pregnancy, in the course of several conversations with my mother about diapers and strollers and car-seats and names and whatever else pregnant ladies talk about she had never once mentioned her intention to steal "Lily".
When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to be named Lily. I loved the sound of it, the lolling slope of the "l's" and the finality of the "ee". I thought it tripped off the tongue in a way "Emma" could never trip. "Emma" -- a name so classic, so boring that I had to add my middle name in a desperate hope for originality: "Emma Grace". I would squirm in jealousy when I met people with interesting names: Juton, Summer, Shanton, Zamari. Cool names.
As I got older, I got more comfortable with Emma Grace. It's not an interesting name, but it's a nice one. It's a pleasant name; it offsets me when I'm not so nice myself. "I'm disappointed in you, Emma Grace" -- the smoothness, the comfort of the name lessens the harshness. Someone named Emma Grace can't be that much of a disappointment. It would be like a Polly being into death metal music.
Different names have different connotations, I think. Olivia: it's a smooth, comfortable name, a lot like Emma Grace. Someone named Olivia who goes by Olly: you can something about her personality, that she's chosen to diverge from the classic Olivia. A Martha who goes by Muffy, a 40-year-old Ted who goes by Teddy -- it really tells you something. Not always bad, but something nonetheless.
My 4-year-old self was wrong. Double-l names (Lola, Leila, Lila, Lolly, and, yes, Lily) don't trip off the tongue; they roll. They glide. And I'm not a gliding person. My 4-year-old self was right, that I'm a tripper, but I was wrong about the name Lily. I'm not a Lily.
I'm an Emma Grace.
What about y'all? How do you feel about your names? Could you see me as a Lily?
