What's in a name?

I’ve been thinking a lot about names. All my life actually. When I was just a little girl I didn’t see my name as something very significant, not until I started school and people, mostly kids my own age, remarked on how unusual my name was. I had already heard the story many times.

My mother had decided, at the age of sixteen, what her daughter would be named. She loved those names so much and she kept them in her heart for years. She got her first child when she was 24, a boy. He got strong, traditional names. One name from our mother’s side of the family, one from our father’s side and his first name from a very intelligent and industrious man that founded one of the most successful companies in Swedish history.

A year later they got another boy. He got two names from our fathers side of the family and my father suggested the name of his beloved, departed uncle, Bernard, for the first name. My mother cringed, she couldn’t name her son after a dog, so they chose another name that just felt better.

Two years later I came into the world. My mother was devastated, the names she had in her head for so many years just wouldn’t due. Two of the names were too common to have as a first name, all the girls the same age as me had those. The third name was her first name, so that was out of the question.

My father, who wisely enough thought it best to not interfere in the matter of my name, called me Q-ball, because of my lack of those downy little strands of hair my brothers had been sporting at birth. So Q-ball I was for a few weeks. My mother, horrified over the suggestion the midwife had given at my birth (and got the entire ward to call me while we were there,) tried desperately to find a suiting name.

The search was intense; books were devoured, friends were asked but nothing felt right. One name searching sessions took my mother to go through her records (yes, real records, not Compact Discs) and she found it. In between her countless albums of Stevie Wonder and the queens of disco lay a humble album with a smiling woman. I had a name.

There’s a feeling of identity in a name. Just imagine being called something else for an entire day.
I have many nicknames, pet names that my friends and family have given me. I have had occasions where I’ve used a different name, not because I don’t like my name, just as a part of a social experiment (long story.) I also avoid using my real name on the Internet but that’s more of a safety precaution.

I wonder how much a name forms you into the person you become. I got a few jeers and snide comments but I would never say I was bullied because of it. I’ve only met one woman with the same first name, she was thirty years older. I know there are more of us out there, but they’re all considerably older than I am. Did the fact that I had a very unusual name affect the way I looked at myself? I’ve always been singing, I can’t remember not doing it. Did the fact that I was named after a singer have any subconscious effect on my choices of education and career? To answer myself I say, no.

No matter how many different names I have had I’m still the same little Q-ball, although I must stress the fact that I have more hair on my head now.