Sticks and Stones

One of my closest friends recently revealed to me that her parents' first choice for her first name was Tree. Not such a big deal. That hippie name is so common I actually have known two other people with this same name. No, the weirdness was that the name her parents were this close to choosing for her middle name was Trunk. Yes, my friend Christina was just one LSD trip shy of being known as Tree Trunk. Better than Tree Stump. Better than Yoni. But the conversation got me to thinking about the worst names I've ever heard.

I myself am no stranger to the cruelty of the fate of names. Kerry-give-me-Headley is a classic knee slapper that I was forced to endure all through junior high. I didn't find out what it meant til ninth grade, which seems bizarre compared to the currently pornified culture of youth. (Should fifteen year olds really be placing personal ads???) But think how my uncle must feel. His first name is Richard, but for some reason he goes by Dick. As in, Dick Headley. As in tape the kick-me sign to my back. Grandma, what were you thinking?

It does, however, get worse. Like when people choose to rename themselves. I knew a guy who changed his middle name to Knight. Like Shining Armor and stuff. He saw it as a way to commit to living as a better kind of man, one who would serve (via his name) as an example of a stand-up, chivalrous kind of guy. The fact that he was actually a deadbeat dad who never sent a dime to support his two year old in another state didn't seem to enter into the equation. And last I heard he was living in his car, confused as to why his ex didn't want to get back together. Not that I totally buy into the idea that he asked for it by declaring himself an archetype he couldn't hang with. It just makes me feel better to think that sometimes. There should be punishment for that level of pretensiousness is all I'm saying.

Leave it to my cousin, however, to provide me with the most horrible name of all time. He met this unfortunate soul when he had to exchange a digital camera at Circuit City. She was quite bitchy and unkind, and a cursory glance at her nametag revealed a possible reason. In big, bold multi-national corporation letters her name spelled out: Kuntara. Oh, the injustice! The cruelty! Do you think they called her Kunt for short? Or Kunty? Or Kunty Lou? And while the correct pronunication most likely is Koontara, there is no way the girl is unscarred. And let's face it, that is barely better. Poontara, anyone? And don't tell me that the spritual meaning of the name makes up for it. Unless poor Kunty can kill with her mind, I don't think she got her money's worth.

So, parents, before you think you should take out your creative urges on your children take heed. Don't name your kids after people from Star Wars or produce. Don't change your own name to fairy tale heroines. And for God's sake, don't collect a list of words/names that mean vagina in Farsi or Portugeese. There is an entire drum circle in my town composed of lesbians who have done this. They beat their bongos while telling their incest stories to each other. Yonita's in the house and stuff.

I asked everyone to call me Liz in the third grade because I thought it was more sophisticated. Nobody did. They called me Pumpkin or KerBear. But I've made my peace with my name after all these years. So, as for me it's just plain Kerry. Ms. Headley if you're nasty.