what's in a name

NOTE: My library of blog posts is littered with half-formed, partially-written posts. Every now and then I like to go back through them and resurrect old thoughts with new ideas. This is one of those posts. Post like this have the label "from the files."

The one time in my life I remember not being annoyed by the misspelling of my given name was on the place card at the wedding reception of one of my father's friends. It was spelled in the way that I've dubbed "The Pretentious European Way with Far Too Many Vowels," but I decided to let it slide this one time since I was in Germany, after all, and it made me feel a little more cultured.

But other than that isolated experience when I was a seventeen-year-old who desperately wanted to have more interesting life experiences that Florence, Kentucky, could offer, I have always had to pep talk myself into remaining calm and not rolling my eyes or huffing impetuously when somebody spells my name with a y thrown in the middle or deletes the e off the end.

I don't know exactly when I became a name snob, but here I am. Interestingly enough, I spent years of my childhood with a highly irrational vendetta against the spelling of my name (sorry, Mom!). I found it too commonplace; it just wasn't interesting enough. But now it's the simplicity and the tradition of the spelling of my name that makes me love it so much.

Because I'm pretty simple. And I'm pretty traditional. The trendy vowels, the superfluous consonants—they just don't fit me. I like the rhythm of my name. Three simple syllables. Consonant, vowel, consonant, vowel, and so on until the little swoop on the final e.

When my parents told me that the runner-up name when I was born was Samantha, I was immediately grateful that they didn't choose that. Not because I don't like the name, but because I'm just not a Samantha. I can't imagine going by Sam or Sammy, and I certainly can't imagine answering to Samantha. I am not Samantha, and Samantha is not me.

As I've gotten older, I've clung more and more to my given name. I've stopped telling professors I go by Maddie, partially because it's easier and partially because I feel more academic being called Madeline. It's ridiculous, I know, but it makes me feel smarter and more grown up. I randomly introduce myself as Madeline, and I've noticed that my family does the same from time to time. More and more friends use Madeline as a term of endearment of sorts, which I've always found amusing, as it is my given name after all. It used to feel forced to go by my full name; it felt sterile and too formal and a little bit fake.

But it doesn't anymore, because Madeline is who I am. I always was, really, but I think I needed to grow into my name. I needed to be a little older, a little wiser to really feel like Madeline.

I supposed I'll always be Maddie to family and close friends. It's how I grew up, and I like its familiar, comfortable feel. It's shorter and easier for small children to say. I like having both names. Because as a wise woman once said, "Madeline is someone who will do great things, but Maddie is someone you can party with."

Amen, sister. Amen.