Saturday, August 31, 2013

What's in a Name?

Approximately 500 years ago, William Shakespeare wrote the immortal question: "What's in a name?" At least, I am pretty sure it was Shakespeare, and I believe it was asked by Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Or Romeo.

I didn't pay too much attention to that play when I studied it in school, or at least it wasn't that memorable for me, because I was in eighth grade at the time. I didn't have the appreciation for Shakespeare in those days that I do now. Also, we watched the '60s movie version in class, and it showed Romeo's bare bum, which made a junior high student like me squirm in his seat, look up at the ceiling tiles, and begin to whistle the "Think" music from "Jeopardy!"


The answer to Shakespeare's question, of course, as another British author, Douglas Adams, wrote somewhat more recently, is: "42."

My point, and I do have one, is that names and "what's in them" can - and should - mean a really big deal to a lot of people. Among that number of people, though, I do not include couples who have a child and then appear to either spend only five minutes choosing a name for that child or appear to have lost a bet when they make the name official on a birth certificate.

Examples of these kinds of names include, but may not be limited to: Banjo, Haven'T, J'Adore, Navaryous, Shoog, Twisha, and so on.

All of these, I promise, are real and can be found by conducting a simple Google search. Many of them also sound like rejected names for characters in Dr. Seuss stories.

The moral of the story: Think about it for longer than five minutes, people. Or at least picture your child's future fourth-grade teacher reading the class roll aloud, and if the name would make the other students giggle, don't do it. Don't make your kids grow up and resent you.

Then, picture that child squirming in his/her seat when he/she has to watch Romeo and Juliet in the eighth grade.

You'll certainly be grateful when . . . I don't know . . . when that child is, many more years from now, deciding whether or not to put you into a nursing home.

2 comments:

  1. I was almost named Kindy... luckily my parentals decided that I looked more like a Charlotte. I must wholeheartedly agree with you on this subject.

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  2. I can see that if Kindy were a family name, for example. I could also see kids potentially calling you "Kinda" or "Sorta" or something like that; maybe "Kindle," what with today's technology and all . . . ?

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