A Name is but a Name

A name is a very personal thing.  At least I think so.

Nearly 54 years ago a little girl was born in Oklahoma City, OK to parents who already had two sons. The mother of said little girl decided to name her "Erin" after a famous singer at the time.  That little girl was me.

Erin was far from being a common name in 1963, at least the female version of the name. The boys' spelling, Aaron, was far more common and thus created problems for me.

For example, on the first day of school every single year when the roll call was done, each and every teacher would call my name, some calling me Erwin (how in the world do you get Erwin from Erin)? When I said, "Here," each teacher would reply, "Well, you're not a boy!"  As if the name Erin spelled E-R-I-N should make any educated person question that person's sex.  Everyone, after all, should know that E-R-I-N is a girl's name, right?

Wrong.

That was just the beginning.  I have lived with the confusion my entire life. And I must say, it has caused me many issues that I probably should have sought counseling for years ago.  I am finally learning to handle it (and I say that in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way).

Growing up, I despised my name.  Not just because of the Erin/Aaron thing, but also because it was a unique name.  Back then, no little girls were named Erin.  Why did my parents have to name me something that would make me stand out?  After all, in my world I was already extremely different with my buck-teeth, my introversion, my social awkwardness.  I certainly didn't need any other reasons to feel like I did not belong.  Why couldn't I be a Susan or a Kimberly or a Catherine?  What in the world was my mother thinking?

As the years went by, I gained more acceptance of my name.  In fact, I even learned to love it for the very reasons I once hated it:  it was unique, just as I am, but in a positive way.  But it is still misspelled, mispronounced and absolutely butchered at Starbucks, nine times out of ten.  I have had many conversations over the years with friends, acquaintances and, yes, the occasional Starbucks barista regarding my name.  I had yet another one today.

When I approached the Starbucks counter and gave the barista my name, he said he was afraid that he misspelled it.  I asked him how he spelled it and he said, pensively, E-R-I-N.  I excitedly said "That's right!"  Then I went on to tell him that the common female spelling of my name is Erin and that the male spelling is Aaron.  He seemed happy with the knowledge -- and even happier still that he got it right.

I was happy, too, as I strolled out the door, into the warm light of the day, smiling as I thought how far I'd come in regards to acceptance, eager for the day...