At four-years-old and after deciding to change my name to Dorothy (I had seen “The Wizard of Oz” for the first time the night before), I was irritated and frustrated that everyone refused to go along. My mother kept calling me Alisa. “Dorothy!” I would yell at her, adamant that when I was old enough I would have my name legally changed to that of my pig-tailed heroine. I pictured myself in court (my mom had explained that I had to go there to do it), a tiny girl before a huge bench, a black-robed judge pounding his gavel and forever dubbing me Dorothy Ann Waldman.
It never happened and I think there are a couple of good reasons.
The main reason is that by the next day I had abandoned my plans, four-year-old-style. But as I think about it (and just why I think about it, I can’t say), how could I have ever become a Dorothy? I was an Alisa, born and bred, and even if the name on my birth certificate was erased and changed to Dorothy all those years ago, wouldn’t I still be an Alisa?
People become their names, it seems. I guess it’s the same concept as anything else – if we called “anything else” “salad bowl” it wouldn’t work either.
I realize that this is all very arbitrary, that we just get used to things. But don’t tell me that you could look in the mirror and think yourself a Bob if you have always been a Doug.
Before Madeleine was born, we knew she was a girl and had begun calling her Madeleine. But aside from a lot of internal beatings from her, I didn’t really know the girl herself at the time. Then when she was born, I looked at her and said her name. It sounded strange for about one second, then she became Madeleine. (When I was about 103 months pregnant, David said to me, “Why don’t we consider Natalie?” Of course I blew a gasket, not only because of hormones and discomfort, but because we had never even considered another name since before I even became pregnant. Never ask a hugely pregnant woman to make life-changing decisions unless you do it with a Hostess Ding Dong dangling before her.)
Anyway, I outgrew wanting to change my moniker, even though hardly anyone ever says it correctly. I am still an Alisa, very much so.
It never happened and I think there are a couple of good reasons.
The main reason is that by the next day I had abandoned my plans, four-year-old-style. But as I think about it (and just why I think about it, I can’t say), how could I have ever become a Dorothy? I was an Alisa, born and bred, and even if the name on my birth certificate was erased and changed to Dorothy all those years ago, wouldn’t I still be an Alisa?
People become their names, it seems. I guess it’s the same concept as anything else – if we called “anything else” “salad bowl” it wouldn’t work either.
I realize that this is all very arbitrary, that we just get used to things. But don’t tell me that you could look in the mirror and think yourself a Bob if you have always been a Doug.
Before Madeleine was born, we knew she was a girl and had begun calling her Madeleine. But aside from a lot of internal beatings from her, I didn’t really know the girl herself at the time. Then when she was born, I looked at her and said her name. It sounded strange for about one second, then she became Madeleine. (When I was about 103 months pregnant, David said to me, “Why don’t we consider Natalie?” Of course I blew a gasket, not only because of hormones and discomfort, but because we had never even considered another name since before I even became pregnant. Never ask a hugely pregnant woman to make life-changing decisions unless you do it with a Hostess Ding Dong dangling before her.)
Anyway, I outgrew wanting to change my moniker, even though hardly anyone ever says it correctly. I am still an Alisa, very much so.
3 comments:
I know what you mean about making life changing decisions at the late stages of pregnancy. I try to be careful just picking out the best shirt to wear each morning so as not to stress myself out too much. Right now with the impending birth of Brooke, my biggest fear is that when she comes out they say, "Its a boy!". We do have a boy's name picked out, however I am so set on this being a girl that I panic at this silly thought! I have got to hurry up and have this baby!
Yes, you do, Heather!
You'd be big and fat if your name was Dorothy. No one named Dorothy get's married. Dorothy isn't even a Jewish name. OY
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