What's in a Name?

By Robyn Parnell

Girls should have strong names.

"Why?" My husband asks.

"For obvious reasons," I answer.

"Strong how?"

"The look, the sound. The meaning. Tenacious, bold names. Strong names."

We look over a list of names we like: girls, boys, and either. I sound the names aloud in my mind, then look up their definitions in a "baby names" dictionary. Sincerely though subjectively, I cross out names whose meanings I deem weak or frivolous. My son could never be a Bart or a Kurt. There will be enough in his life, being a son rather than a daughter, which will steer him toward Bart-ness, without being burdened by such a name.

Boys names should have softer borders, gentle boundaries. The currently popular Dylan, Ryan, and Austin are deceptive. Those names sound gentle around the edges, but, to me, they are the 1990's renderings of the Richards, Williams, and Ronalds of the 1950s -- they are Barts in trendier sheeps' clothing.

I flip through the baby names books I received (along with an iron, an environmentally incorrect can of aerosol spray starch and an apron) as a joke from a friend, for my wedding. This name book helps me in my work, which is writing short fiction. I keep it in the reference section of my bookcase, along with thesauri, and dictionaries. When I have difficultiy naming a character, when a character's name must mean something -- I reach for it.

This child, this character my husband and I are working on, deserves to have a name of its own. No numerals following the last name, and no "junior." I have kept my birth name (those who use "maiden name" in our house are given a mop and a dustrag), as my husband has kept his. However, I've yet to hear him asked to explain the lack of difference in his pre- and post-marital surname. Its immutability is assumed.

Our child will have his or her own surname: two syllables, one from my husband's last name and one from mine.

"That's great! After all, if you're going to be a family, why be one or the other? Why not be something new, something unique, which, in fact, you are?! If no one ever did anything different, there would be no traditions."

Many friends and relatives -- all female, now that I think of it, and all who, for various reasons and with varying amounts of enthusiasm have declined to make such changes themselves -- have spoken variations of the above sentiment, in support of our decision. A few have suggested that:

1. for the sake of simplicity,
2. with regard to (if not respect for) practicality, and
3. considering the limited storage capacity of both the human brain computerized school registration forms, my husband and I should also assume the surname we will give our child.

Oh, I get it. So that we three will be the family.

Three persons; one household; one last name. Catchy idea.

"We'll think about it," I say. This response generates more positive feedback than, "We've considered it, but we each like our own last name," or "It would be a hassle to change; besides, so what if they're different? Ultimately, what's in a name?"

Plenty, according to the baby names book, which follows a format similar to other such books I've seen. The names are separated by gender, the girls' section usually (chivalrously?) preceding the boys'. Names are listed alphabetically, followed by the nation or language of origin, "definitions," and nicknames or variations. Calla (Greece) "Beauty." Cal; Callie; Cally.

More often than not, along with a personality trait or two, the definitions include a reference to appearance and form. Especially the girls' names. Lian: (Chinese) "Graceful willow."

I picture prospective parents flipping through these books, considering names for their girl-child. Mirabel (Latin) "Extraordinary beauty." Linda (Spanish) "Pretty." Nani (Hawaiian) "Beautiful one from heaven." Tiffany (Greek) "Like the appearance of God."

Also, for almost half the of the girls' names, there is something like the following: Carla (German) "A feminine form of Carl." There is never such a definition for the boys' names. "Masculine" names are not defined in terms of an Other. There is never: Anthony (Latin) "A masculine form of Antoinette."

I put the baby names books on the floor, underneath a dictionary, and use the books for a footstool while I type. I work on a story in which a certain character is killed, his death caused by a family member. He is loutish, obtuse, bad-tempered; when I close my eyes I can picture him lurking behind my computer monitor. I know exactly what he looks like, what he smells like.

Unlike the sympathetic characters in my story, no appellation springs to mind, though I instinctively know who he is not. He is not Dylan, Ryan, or Austin. So I get the names book and search for inspiration. I come upon "Barry" and am mesmerized by the sound as I say it aloud, over and over. It resonates in my skull, like a growl. Barry (Gaelic) "Warlike; spearlike. Pointed."

Perfect.