When you look at pictures of people born a hundred years ago, it is easy to believe that they had no fun at all. Life was hard, and you can tell, because they all look like they are having a dreadful time of it. Grim faces betray the difficulties they faced on a daily basis, and the stiff clothing betrayed the formal nature of the occasion.
But despite the stern faces that peer out of the photographs, it is clear that some of them had a sense of humor, especially when it came to naming their numerous offspring. If you visit a cemetery, or even look through an old family photo album, you will see some pretty interesting appellations for all those cute little tots with their long hair and sad eyes. I realize, of course, that we have to allow for the time period into which a person was born, and perhaps the names weren't quite as unusual then as they are today. But sometimes, you have to wonder if they just got bored with it, or if those really were the hot names of the day.
I find it interesting how names seem to cycle, and those old time names, which sound so antiquated to me, are suddenly coming into vogue once again. I heard from a friend the other day that a new niece was named Lillian. That is a name I haven't ever heard applied to anyone under the age of 70. Suddenly it was, apparently, the perfect name for a newborn.
Of course, people come up with names for their children in all sorts of ways. Many couples take months to choose the perfect moniker, one imbued with meaning and character and sophistication. Children are named after their parents, old family friends, or another much loved relative. Some people name their children after people in the Bible, while others choose the celebrity of the hour. One family will search for a name that is so unique, their child will stand out in the crowd, even on paper, while others look at the list of trendy names and go with whatever is at the top of the list.
My grandparents certainly came up with some unique labels for their six offspring, most of which I don't expect will make a return trip to the top of the popularity charts any time soon. But they probably weren't any more unusual at the time than some of the names that you see today.
They named their eldest child Albion Marcus, which was probably not that unusual of a name in 1919, but isn't exactly the top choice among parents of today. I will be surprised if Albion makes a comeback, as I've only known of two of them in my whole life. But it fits my uncle, a serious, detail oriented man, who even at 91, continues to take charge in whatever situation he finds himself.
Next up, we have Phillip Rudolph. Personally, I like the name Phillip. In fact, that was almost the name of my firstborn, after this much adored uncle who died from complications of diabetes when I was little, but lives in my memory forever. When I hear Rudolph, all I can think of is jingle bells and bright red noses, not exactly the image most parents want for their newborn. Of course, this was before Rudolph was known primarily for being a reindeer, so perhaps I should cut them some slack. Maybe Grandma had a secret crush on Rudolph Valentino!
When my aunt, the first daughter, came along, they went all out, and named her Myrtle Aldora. She has never claimed the Myrtle, although my Uncle Bud has somehow gotten away with a lifetime of calling her Myrt, followed by his happy chortle. She remains the only Aldora I have ever known, and I have always wondered where they came up with it.
The next child in line, Frederick Orvall, has always been Fritz to me. I have, on very rare occasions, heard him referred to as Fred, and it always causes me confusion, as I try to recall exactly who that might be. The name Fritz has always fitted him to a T, there is something carefree and fun about it, which is exactly how he has always appeared to me, although he has his serious side, too. He was born on Christmas Day in 1924, and the world has been a better, and more exciting, place ever since, no matter what you want to call him.
My mother's name is Rosella LaVerne, a name that is probably one in a million. Or two. My lovely daughter, whose middle name is Rose, is named for her grandmother. I named her Rose, because I thought I would spare her a lifetime of explaining [and spelling] Rosella. I was informed some years ago that she is bitterly resentful that I named her Rose, and she has maintained ever since that she will change it to Rosella at her first opportunity, which is obviously the name I should have given her to begin with. I see this as clear evidence that you simply cannot win the name game with your own children.
The youngest child in the family was about to be given the name Agnes Luella, when someone apparently thought better of it and named her Alice Marie, instead. I have always thought it was best to be the youngest, and I consider this to be one more proof of that truism. [Have I ever mentioned that I am the youngest in my family?] I can tell you my aunt definitely prefers Alice to Agnes, since she has told that story a few times, and never without a heavy sigh of relief. Of course, I don't call her by either name, since she will always be Tootsie to me, but that's another story for another day.
As for myself, I apparently started my life as Debra, but upon being adopted, had it changed to Sarah, which I have been ever since. I am not especially fond of Sarah - it's a serviceable name, I guess, but I utterly fail to understand the popularity of a name that no one can spell right without direction, and which is not really that great to begin with.
My cousin, Rachel, [who never liked her name, either,] and I envied each other's names back when we were young. We were both sure it would be so much better to have the other name, and we even talked about trading. In the end, of course, we didn't, since we were Minnesota Lutherans.
Let me just share with you a little tidbit about Minnesota Lutherans. Or really, Minnesotans in general. Probably Lutherans too, although I think it's more pronounced in the Minnesota variety. We do not go in for a whole lot of nonsense. Trading names falls under the category of nonsense. It was, in a word, a non-starter. We would not have been indulged in that kind of foolishness.
So instead, I called her by the sobriquet Tracks, due to her initials RR. She called me Des, after the Sahara Desert. It was silly, I suppose, but it served the purpose, and now it makes an amusing anecdote when trying to illustrate a story about the goofy names people have.
When it came time to name my firstborn child, it was a big decision, and I wanted to get it right. I was under the impression [due to everyone at the doctor's office telling me so] that I would have a girl, so I didn't spend a whole lot of time worrying about boy names. I focused instead on the name that my perfect little girl would carry with her forever.
When the doctor exclaimed, at the moment of his birth, "It's an Adam," it turned out to be a very good thing. The name I had so painstakingly selected, Tiffany, is not one that I would be too happy about today. I was young, it was trendy, I have no real excuse. You are stupid when you are 24, what can I say?
Fortunately, he ended up with a name selected at almost the last hour, but which has always suited him right down to the ground. Serious, sober, short and to the point, that's his name, and that's his personality.
He, predictably, did not always agree, of course. There was that one long evening at church youth group when he decided that he was going to be known by his middle name, Karl. [Karl was his great-grandfather's name. I wanted to name my newborn after my dad, whose name was Stanley Wallace, but I didn't feel that was quite going to make the cut, so extended the range to my grandfather.] That lasted a week or so, and he has been satisfied with Adam ever since.
My lovely daughter had her name selected months in advance, as I wanted my then five year old to get used to the idea of a sibling, and wanted him to learn his/her name from the start. Adam, in fact, had the honor of selecting her name, and in his usual analytical way, made it easy on himself by choosing the only name on the list that could work either way, Erin [or Aaron.]
After months of weekly ultrasounds, as my high risk pregnancy limped towards the finish line, I knew she would be a girl. I was happy to be able to have an Erin of my very own, since that was my secret first choice of names for her. Her name means peace. I was obviously hormonal, or possibly delusional, I'm not sure which.
Names define us, in many ways. Research has shown that names have an impact on everything from success in school to how much money you make. With the right name, you can have popularity and riches, while the wrong name may doom you to the back of the unemployment line.
When we alphabetize people by last name, always starting with A, I wonder if those people at the beginning of the line get a boost of self-esteem every time they stand up first, or if being at the end of the line helps in the development of patience and resiliency.
The one name that is rarely chosen with care is the nickname, which can come from anywhere, and be embarrassing or familiar or become the first choice, depending on the person whom it adorns. My cousin, Rebecca, has been Becky since she was born. My brother, Charles, is Charlie. Another cousin briefly went by the name Poopsie, while I refer to my first born as Sonshine.
Some names are less charming, of course, especially when bestowed by classmates, friends, or, heaven forbid, enemies in middle school. The phrase, sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me, is a patent falsehood, because those names, which some people carry with them for life, can inflict pain and damage long after the name is forgotten by everyone else.
Juliet opined "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But it would still have thorns. I think that's something to think about.
