Al DeLuise revisits the process of naming his children, and the importance of names.
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I hate my name. I have hated my name my entire life. In fact, I hated my name even before I was born. When my mother was pregnant she carried me for ten months — I instinctively knew what name they were going to label me with and I didn’t want to come out and have any part of it.
Alfred. C’mon on, who saddles a baby with that name? Apparently, my parents.
In my childhood I was often compared to Batman’s butler. When I pressed my parents to explain why they named me Alfred they said I was crazy for not liking the name, that is was a fine name, and that there were plenty of exceptional men named Alfred.
“There was King Alfred the Great,” they would say, “and Alfred Hitchcock.”
I waited for a few more examples, but they pretty much emptied their quiver on those two names. Of all the trillions of people that have lived on this planet I get a King of England and a British film director. They weren’t even Americans.
One time in grade school, as our substitute teacher read through the attendance list, he paused, laughed out loud, and then read my name. That sort of stuff stays with you.
So when the time came to name our kids I was particularly sensitive to what their names would be. I would make sure there were no foolish nicknames that could be derived from their names or that their initials did not spell out some offensive body part.
With my daughter, I always liked the name Amanda. Arlene (ex-wife) and I also thought about Elizabeth and Emily but Amanda had a nice, old-fashioned feel to it. Plus, paired with my mother’s name, Rose, we thought it was unique.
I was wrong about that.
After twelve hours of labor and relentless pushing Arlene was whisked away and a cesarean was performed. Amanda Rose had entered the world. A day or so later I was in the hospital elevator returning to the nursery. Standing on either side of me were two people, both holding flowers with silver Mylar balloons attached. Written on each balloon’s face was ‘It’s a Girl!’ and as I glanced at the cards pinned to each arrangement I saw the newborns’ name: Amanda Rose. I didn’t know either of these people and when the elevator doors opened, we each stepped out; one set of flowers went left, one went right, and I moved straight ahead to the nursery; so much for being unique.
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I always liked the name Alex so when our second child was due we decided he would be named Alexander. We used Arlene’s father’s name as a middle name — Alexander James is a very strong name. As Arlene’s contractions grew closer they wheeled her from the hospital room to the delivery room. It was quite a sight seeing Arlene, her legs lifted high-and-wide as they raced her down the hallway; her flimsy white blanket billowed in the breeze and waved to the people nearby as if to say, “Hey, look at me!” Once inside the room the nurses turned and walked away and left us alone. As we waited, and with Arlene between contraction, I looked around the small room we now found ourselves. There was a glass door that led to another room. Just on the other side of the glass there was a sign with a list of instructions. If ever given the chance to provide feedback to the hospital, I would strongly recommend that the sign be removed.
It was instructions on what to do if the baby is not born alive.
With that image now planted firmly in my brain a doctor came in, Arlene started pushing, and in a relatively short time (for me, not Arlene) the doctor held our son. He looked like a huge rubber doll (the baby, not the doctor), but he didn’t make a sound. The doctor turned and placed him on a table as another doctor rushed in. Their bodies shielded us from our newborn. It might have only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before I heard our son cry out. I didn’t know then, but this was typical for Alexander — even today it takes a real effort to get him to say anything.
Ironically, I have never in his entire life called him Alex. I have never called him Al, either. Under any and all situations and circumstances, I call him Alexander.
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When our third child was about to be born we realized we had situation — so far, all our names began with ‘A’. This led to everyone throwing out A-name suggestions. The obvious one was Andrew, which is Arlene’s twin brother’s name, but I didn’t want him to think we named the child after him(sorry, Andy). Besides, I didn’t want to be that family that everyone’s name began with the same letter. Someone then suggested Zach so that our names would go from ‘A’ to ‘Z’. That suggestion was quickly vetoed.
Even after our son was born we didn’t have a name for him. A short time later a nurse handed him to me along with a little-blue-name-card that I was to fill out after I took the baby down to test for jaundice. By this point Arlene and I had landed on a name. I went down for the test, handed the baby over, and then started to fill out the card with his new name.
I started to print his name: “M-I-C-H-“. Then I was stumped; was it “-ael” or “-eal”. I was too embarrassed to ask so I decided it wasn’t a good sign if I could not spell my own son’s name. I went back and told Arlene we would have to come up with something else.
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That night I went home, made some phone calls, and then took a long delayed shower. As the water splashed my face the song “Daniel” by Elton John came on the radio. Daniel? That was a good name. Daniel Joseph (Joseph was my father’s name). Strong. D.J. — even good initials. When I went back to the hospital and I told Arlene my suggestion she agreed. His name would be Daniel.
Once again I was handed that dreaded blue card. Confidently I started to write:
“D-A-N-“and then I panicked again — was it “-iel” or “-ial”? Determined not to look foolish (again) I jotted down “I-E-L” and hoped for the best.
I think my kids all like their names — no panic attacks when substitute teachers giggle while taking attendance. As for me, although exceptions have been made for people I grew up with, or family members, I don’t like to be called by my full first name. Using it at all in this post may be a good first step toward acceptance. But until then there is a simple solution; if I ever do run into you on the street or at a party —
You can call me Al.
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You can read more of Al’s work at his blog, Conflict and Scotch.
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Photo credit: kaatjevervoort/flickr
James is solid. Until soon after birth your parents start calling you Jamie.
not even a respectable ‘Jimmy’?
I never really thought of changing my name; I have always been fine with ‘Al’ its just the longer form that I hate…although, as members of my family point out, it could have been worse – I could have been ‘Alfredo’ or ‘Alfonso’ – i had a friend growing up that I never knew his real first name until we were much older – he just always went by his middle name – I couldn’t do that, I don’t have a middle name (we were too poor to afford a middle name) –
I hate my name, too. It’s a derivative of Barbarian; it means “stranger” and “dark person” and “foreigner”. Who would do that to an innocent baby! Plus, I’m not OLD! All the Barbaras I know are over 60, and I haven’t even hit 50 yet (mentally I’m a 14-year-old boy). I feel your pain! I’ve seriously considered changing it, but I have never been able to come up with a name that doesn’t sound pretentious or something.
I feel your pain, believe me. All I’ll say is that ‘Bobby’ is short for something and it sure as hell ain’t Robert. My parents are Irish and my mom has a horrible obsession with some of the worst names imaginable. If I was a girl, my name would have been ‘Sorcha’ and my mom doesn’t pronounce it the way it’s supposed to be – she insists on saying it in her own particular way. My brother would have been Lois which isn’t too bad but our last name starts with L so I can just imagine the Lois Lane… Read more »
Thanks, Bobby. I know what you mean, some of the names, especially celebrities, should qualify as child abuse – people think I’m crazy for hating my name so much but it does leave a mark when as a little kid people are laughing at your name – thank god I have a blog or who knows how I would lash out – and I agree with you, Amanda, Alex, and Daniel are lovely names….