I am the middle child, but the first daughter. I have a name I’ve grown to like … but I did have to grow to like it. Part of what I didn’t like was that it doesn’t really come from anywhere. My brother’s name comes from my mother; my sister is named for a movie star. And then there’s my name. And then I remembered this:
Cathy Song (b. 1955 — )
from Lost SisterIn China,
even the peasants
named their first daughters
Jade–
the stone that in the far fields
could moisten the dry season,
could make men move mountains
for the healing green of the inner hills
glistening like slices of winter melon.
And I read that and I think … Jade? Who would I be as a Jade? I can’t imagine. Ok, Song’s talking about a Chinese custom, not an African American one, but still. I think this means my sister would be ‘Pearl,’ which I also can’t imagine.
Jade. No, she really isn’t me. I’d have been some totally other woman with that name. And think of all the things I’d have missed.
(I wouldn’t have met cute, underground-rocker boys in Prague who couldn’t get ‘Stacie’ and so called me ‘Anastasia’ in their deep, cigarette-scratchy voices instead. I wouldn’t have had Annabell calling me ‘Daisy’ all the years she was my student, seeing my name on the board and asking – every time — “Daisy, why you spell your name so it looks like Stacie?” And so many other things missed.)
And, too, my middle name comes from my mother. And it certainly isn’t as though my first name was pulled out of a hat or some such random selection. No. My mother, the former actress, was very aware of the power of names, was careful which ones she chose for her children. So here I am: not Jade, not Stephanie, not even Anastasia. Stacie. (I want to write ‘Plain and Tall’ after that, but only the ‘tall’ part rings true now. I could once have been thought plain, but those days are long gone!)
So it seems that, yet again, my mother really knew best!
I’ve always associated the name Stacie with my sister’s best friend in high school, who I thought was *so* cool. I haven’t met any other Stacie-s (or Stacy-s) since.
Annabell’s question had me cracking up!
I really like this post.
I think about my name very often – mainly because people always seem to have a remark about it when I tell them what my name is. And also if my name has allowed me to experience things I’ve always liked it. And I’ve always admired the woman I was named after (Bianca Jagger) even if I’ve never been happy about the translation (white in Italian).
I used to wonder what kind of person I’d be or what things I’d experience if I had one of the “usual” names so many of my friends had: Erin, Jessica, Cristina. Or if I’d be perceived differently or act differently if I was a Jamila, Latoya or Ebony.
Even I can see, without ever having laid eyes on you, that you are anything but plain.
Hi, Bianca — I love that you’re named after Bianca Jagger! I’ve spent kind of a crazy amount of time thinking about my name. Happily I’ve grown into it at this point!
Why thank you, Ms. Dammit!