What’s In A Name

I’m not always so serious.  Most of the time, I’m not serious at’all.  Yesterday I needed to fill out some medical forms, all of which started off asking my name.  Simple, right?  Nope.  I have an atypical name, topped off by an atypical spelling of said name.  She Who Rules the Land of Paperwork scrutinized the first form, handed it back to me, and snidely informed me that the paper was to have MY name listed as “Patient”.  I took an exaggerated look around the cubicle. Only my sister and I were present.  Exactly who did Miss Paperwork think WAS the patient?

I do get the same reaction often.  And I usually just answer politely, to the affirmative, I’ve provided my true and legal name.  But then she suggested perhaps I’d misspelled my OWN name.  And that she’s never heard of any such name, before, and if she hadn’t been privy to it, obviously no such name exists.  By that point, my sister was outright laughing, because she knew where this train was heading.  Miss Paperwork was clearly and genuinely befuddled.  And I couldn’t really clarify it any further.  She muttered something like, “All these folks with funny names, ain’t nobody never heard of none of ’em. Folks ought to be thinking on ahead when they name babies!”.
I can attest to the truth in THAT, anyway.  I certainly do see more than my fair share of ewenike names.

My particular moniker has always been a point of confusion for most adults, and plenty of my peers.  My teachers renamed me, for their convenience, ease of roll call, or simply due to their personal lack of creativity.  Of course, I always hated my unusual name when I was younger.  It was different, and when you’re young, different isn’t especially desirable.  Even now, few people KNOW my full name, and even fewer can correctly spell it.  Now that I’m all grown, I love my “funny” name. It’s becomes a bit of a game, especially if I’m feeling particularly facetious (and it’s safe to assume I usually am).
Mama told me, once, that my name was a last minute decision, and through the entire pregnancy, the plan was to honor her favorite soap opera heroine by declaring I’d forever be called “Sabrina”. And like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.  You gotta laugh.  I’m definitely NOT a “Sabrina”!
Miss Paperwork finally did manage to accept my true and legal name, after I provided her with three separate forms of government issued photo identification, which she verified and cross verified.  And I knew what was coming next, but by that point,  I WAS just feeling too facetious to stop that train.  So when came the Queen’s reaction to my address: 2500 Nonesuch Road,  my sister and I could no longer contain ourselves, and soon had tears coursing down our cheeks, mascara running all over… Sorry, not sorry, Miss Paperwork; I win.

 

Laugh a little. Be blessed, Y’all.

 

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