We all have a name.
Our parents thought long and hard and bestowed upon us a name that would remain with us throughout our entire lives. Sometimes, we were named after a parent or distant relative. Other times, we would be named after a fondly remembered friend or colleague. Occasionally, we would be named for an historical figure.
My name is Joseph. I don’t need to bore you with the origin of my name. For my generation, and many generations before, many men were named Joseph. Look at the popular names from other nations and you will see many variations of Joseph.
Biblical names were and still are very popular, save for a few. Everyone knows a Mark, Luke, David, Joseph or Matthew. I would be hard-pressed to find a parent who named their bundle of joy Judas, though. I would imagine he would not be very popular on the schoolyard, as tattletales rarely are.
As a boy, I was called Joey. By the time I reached my 12th birthday, Joey was sounding more like a child’s name than the name of a preteen. It was then I chose to be known as Joe. There are a few folks who are allowed to call me Joey. If you are a blood relative or have known me for at least 35 years, you get a free pass.
I rarely go by Joseph. I reserve my full first name for serious business. I entertained, albeit briefly, using my first initial and my middle name.
J. Michael sounded quite distinguished. It worked for F. Scott Fitzgerald, after all.
I then thought of all the people trying to reach him on the telephone and saying, “Hello, this is Mr. Smith from the bank. May I speak with “F,” please?”
With all the unusual and trendy names these days, I am seeing fewer of the names I grew up with. I no longer see a newborn named Charles. There are no longer any Roberts, Richards and Kenneths. You would have a tough time finding even an Eric or Scott. I think Henry is still a good, solid name, but you won’t find a Henry on any schoolyard these days.
Girls’ names are equally challenging. My daughters have feminine names. There has been a trend for some time to give a girl a masculine-sounding name. Where there was once Mary, Anne and Elizabeth, there are now Hunter, Parker and Logan.
I am worried about the day I meet one of my grandson’s little friends and I ask for her name and she looks me in the eye and says, “Roy.”
Increasingly, parents are naming their children after products. I have personally met Lexus, Nautica and Pepsi. Where this idea came from, I have no idea. It is however, dumb. That’s about all I have to say about it. Unless you have a lucrative endorsement deal, you should not do this. Even then, you should think twice.
Equally bothersome is the nontraditional spelling of a traditional name. Ethelle is still Ethel. I don’t care if you do spell Agnes with two esses and an e, it’s still plain old Agnes. There’s nothing wrong with Agnes. I have known one or two in my life and they were perfectly nice.
My wife has interrupted my writing to ask that I mention that her name is Carolyn and not Caroline. Even when she spells it for people, she still gets called more the latter than the former.
There was the one woman who called her Carlotta, but she was a little loopy and rarely remembered her own name.
I’m probably going to get a letter or two from someone with an unusual name explaining how wonderful their life has been with their different name. I would imagine it was a different story when they were trying to find “Copernicus” on one of those little license plates you would hang on your bicycle.
I met a guy at work when I had to call him for information. I asked for Jesus, pronouncing it Hayzoos. He very nicely told me it was Jesus, pronounced Jeesus. I paused for a moment, only to be instructed, “Please call me Jesse. Everyone does.”
First names and last names need to flow. I once met a truck driver named Manuel Leyba. Take a minute with that one. Say it out loud.
My parents’ generation might not have been terribly exciting when picking out the names of their children. My buddies were Mark, Pete, Jimmy and Chuck. We weren’t glamorous, stylish or unusual, but I’ll tell you this: Playing “The Name Game” with Chuck was always fun.
Baltimore native Joe Weaver is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.