It All Starts with a Name - Story #8 of 52
How did you get your name? Do you like it? I think most people dislike their name at some point in their lives. I know I did and there are still some days when I look in the mirror and it isn’t really a Mary-Lou I see looking back at me. It’s a bit unsettling. When I was younger I often daydreamed about changing my name and would try on new ones the way one tries on clothes. Susan. Donna. Linda. Debbie. But, unlike Goldilocks, I could never seem to find one that felt just right. I actually preferred the nicknames I was given over the years. Lou, Mare, ML, MLou. Maybe it’s because they are more casual and less demanding. They don't expect as much. When I’m called by my full name it sounds serious - like when your mom yells at you using your first, middle AND last name all at the same time. You know you’re in trouble when that happens.
Naming a child is a big deal and a huge responsibility. Ask any parent and they’ll usually tell you how they struggled to find just the right moniker for their baby. When we were expecting it wasn’t generally accepted, as it is now, to find out the gender of the child before it was born so I had a list of both boy’s and girl’s names. I spent a lot of time going over that list trying first names with middle names and with our last name. Just when I thought I had narrowed it down to a couple of winners, my husband breezed into the hospital room and announced proudly, “Brandon Lee!” Neither of those names were on my list. I had reservations. Brandon? As in Manitoba? I didn’t want the poor child to be teased about being named after a city! It took me a couple of days of calling him by that name before I gave in and agreed. Now, I can’t imagine him being anything but that.
I had our second son’s name all ready to go before he was born even though, again, I didn’t know if I was having a boy or a girl. I’d always liked Jeffrey but wanted it to be spelled “Geoffrey”. Hey, what can I say? I was an English major and had an obsession with Chaucer (Geoffrey Chaucer). Ryan would be his middle name. So, Geoffrey Ryan he was. For two days I called him Geoffrey; the nurses called him Geoffrey. The day before we were to go home and had to fill out the paperwork for his birth certificate my husband admitted that he didn’t really care for Geoffrey, or Geoff for that matter.
“Could we switch them around?” he suggested. “I like Ryan Geoffrey better.” Bully for you, I thought. After I’d gone through all of the work of birthing these sons of his, surely to goodness I could have the satisfaction of naming one of them?
“Rrrrrryan Rrrrosengren?!” I blurted out. “Rrrreally?”
I had visions of our poor son saying his name and people thinking he had a stutter. But, we really had to get that paperwork finished up or we couldn’t go home so, once again, I gave in. My Geoff became our Ryan and he never did develop a stutter. As a bonus, his initials are RGR instead of GRR.
Apparently, my own name has its origins in the fact that we were Catholic and, I've been told, it was common (or maybe was an extra layer of sacred protection?) for a Catholic child to be given a name from the bible. I also did a little research and from about 1953 to 1961, Mary was the number one most popular name for girls. I’m not sure why. To me, it’s a boring, colorless name- no offense to any other “Mary's”, by the way. Google tells me that Mary also means “bitter”. Really? I thought it was bad enough being boring. My father’s name was Louis and I guess my parents figured if they tacked “Lou” onto “Mary” it would, at the very least, give me the distinction of being their first-born.
To make things more complicated I have no middle name. I am simply Mary-Lou or, Mary dash Lou since no one seems to know how to spell my name (Marilu, Marylu, Maryloo) and I’m constantly asked if there’s a dash in it. Without the anchor of a middle name, my initials were simply “MT” or “empty” (until I got married and became MR).
My name doesn’t bother me (much) anymore. I have realized there are actually a few reasons to be thankful for it. First of all, it’s not a common name. In my lifetime I’ve probably met only about three or four other Mary-Lou's. Unique is good, right? Next, I have an iconic song from 1961 (“Hello, Mary Lou”) by Ricky Nelson (heart-throb!) that I can claim for my own. Finally, my mom told me she’d almost named me Celeste. Celeste? Quoi? Non merci. I will stick with the name I was given. It’s kind of grown on me after all these years.