What's In A Name?

I'm almost afraid before even writing this post that I won't be able to adequately express the tone I'm hoping to convey - that names are important. In fact, I truly do think names carry a lot of significance. We spent a considerable amount of time picking the ones we gave our own children. Our conversations would have made great fodder for the struggling comedian.

"How about THIS name!"

"Nope! A girl in my high school class had that name and she was VERY.....well.....NOT VERY, um, monogamous - or innocent. What about THIS one!"

"Yuck! My best friend's mom had that name and she wore her slippers to the store, chewed tobacco and rolled her own smokes! I like THIS."

"Huh. Uh. Picked her boogers in class AND smelled like pizza whenever she got in my face to talk! This one?"

"Are you KIDDING ME? My room mates sister's best friend's Aunt..........."

It's a miracle our children aren't all named the same thing! But then, who does that? (And Michael Jackson doesn't count because I really mean what SANE person.)

But, God is good and He even cares about a prayer to find a suitable name for a new soul entering the world. So He made sure through three neat, unique set of circumstances that each time we were able to find just the right names for our children. And they are still my very favorite names for children to have. Which is good since they are my children and I helped pick them. Although, I would probably change one of them if I were naming them now. What? You don't really think I'm going to say which one, do you?

It's not that I have changed my mind about loving the name; it's just that it's become much more common than I ever realized it would. There are so many of "them" now. Of course, that means that a lot of other people like the name too. So I guess that's a good thing.

But the name that I have really been considering lately is my own. I don't mind it. It's fine. Probably not my MOST favorite in the entire world. No where near my least favorite either. But I like it. It fits me. After this many years (30 something today, ahem, shameless plug - hee hee) it's simply who I am. After all, I've always used it. The "problem" is, IT has two versions.

Growing up, my extended family and occasionally my own parents called me "Nikki Sue," the Southern abbreviation of my given legal name. That was cool. Because any two names said together with a gentile drawl act as a badge of honor and proof of one's distinct Southern-ness. That is until one grows up anyway. Then, a formerly cute child's name becomes nothing but hick-speak to the rest of the world. "Bessie Joe!" Hello?

So as I aged, my parents did the proper thing and called me simply "Nikki." When I was about 8 to 12 years old, I was convinced it sounded Chinese. Of course, I was also equally convinced that Illinois was on the West Coast and I was going to marry Ricky Schroeder from a sitcom show similar to Richie Rich. It made just as much sense. So "Nikki" remained my name for many years, through college.

Then I started to prepare resumes as a first step into the "real" world. And it occurred to me that throughout my tenure at University, not one, but a few people had remarked to me on various occasions that "Nikki" sounded like a str*ippe*rs name. And that Prince (then the musician who later became the Artist Formerly Known As Prince but is now again Prince, I think) had written a not-so-flattering song about a girl name Nikki - who did unseemly things in a hotel lobby. HBO had a nice little series called "Nikki - Wild Dog Of The North." And HOW MANY times did I have to hear "Oh, Nikki, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind, HEY Nikki" from the back of the bus in high school? Never mind that the original song was "Oh, MICKI." You get the picture.

I reasoned "Nicole" should head the top of my pretty new resumes. They had a cream marble texture. And cream marble just said "Nicole." Because of course, as a rookie in the jet set world of regular paychecks, selling my name naturally took precedence over selling actual, you know, skills. (Good thing it wasn't an actual sales job I was after.) "Nicole" stuck. I had to sign it now on a litany of documents I'd never before worried about when I was "Nikki." For this was my "legal" name. And you are required to use your "legal" name on all "legal" documents. That's fun for about a month or two before you realize that being "legal" really just means being responsible for your own finances. And for the Thursday night run to the pizza parlor for "Limit One Only" $3 large pizzas wearing a different hat and jacket at each 30 minute interval. Or maybe that was just me. Getting out on your own is glamorous, isn't it?

By now my employers, creditors, store clerks and anyone I befriended after graduating pretty much knew me as "Nicole." And to be honest, I've always like it better than "Nikki." So much more of a Western Hemisphere ring to it. Of course, my family still called me "Nikki." It's what they're used to. I figured I 'd spare them the agony (Well, maybe "agony" is too strong a word. Inconvenience maybe? Laughter at my expense?) of adopting another new moniker, as my cousin, my dad, and my brother had all also changed their names at some point. In fact, whenever one of my friends calls me "Nicole" in front of my family, I almost feel as if I have committed some sort of weird betrayal. But then I think, "Wait a minute! That IS my name. The one that YOU gave to me! I'll use it if I want to, by golly!"

So I did when I started this blog. It's up there in the right hand corner if you look really closely. (Of course, most bloggers still refer to me as "Mayhem," and that just makes me laugh! My hubby would probably agree with that!) Then as I started commenting on other blogs, I realized that Blogland is just crawling like cockroaches with "Nicole"s all over the place. (There is that darned negative connotation again!) For clarity, to separate which "Nicole" was commenting, I decided to once again sign with "Nikki." But now, I have found at least two more of THOSE, spelled the same way, commenting regularly on some of my favorite blogs. And you know what? The more the merrier!

SO..........

(Deep Breath)

All of this to say with complete sincerity in all that I can muster the answer to a question I'm asked almost daily.......

I really, truly, honestly, seriously mean it when I tell you that I don't care whether you call me "Nikki" or "Nicole" or "Nik" or even how you spell it. (I don't understand people getting offended when their name with 12 possible spellings gets misspelled! Good grief!) You can EVEN call me Late For Dinner! (If YOU cooked, that means I didn't have to, so hey, WHATEVER! Que sera, sera!)

Just don't call me "Nikki Sue." Or Bobbi Jo. Or Calamity Jane. (But MAYHEM is fine.) I'm too old. Especially today. Unless you're my Grandma. For some reason, when she says it, I feel like a little girl again in pigtails and freckles.

For everyone else, when I sign your blog, I'll probably be "Nicole" or "Mayhem," but I won't be Anonymous. I want my name to mean something. Even if it's "Hi, I'm CYBIL. There are nine of me!" :)