What's In A Name?

Names are important. Your name becomes a part of who you are. This is how people know you. A good name vs. a bad name can mean the difference between a lifetime of normalacy or a lifetime of torment. Yet it never ceases to amaze me how mothers and fathers will agree to disagree and name their daughter something like Shithead - pronounced "shi-theed".

I myself narrowly escaped receiving an ungodly name at birth. Supposedly my father wanted to name me Thaddeus, in the event that I was a boy. What hallucinogenic drug he was on at the time, I do not know, but luckily I was born with a vagina and the rest is history. Granted, I still was not thrilled with the name that I did get, but it surely was a step up from Thaddeus.

The other day I ventured into Chattanooga to visit RockCreek Outfitters at Hamilton Place. One of my coworkers had told me about this really cool water bottle she had purchased there and since I had thrown out my Nalgene I felt that now was as good a time as any to look into getting something new.

RockCreek Outfitters is an outdoor sporting goods and apparel store here in the south. For the most part I really enjoy browsing through their merchandise. The reason I say browse is because although they have some really useful and wellmade products, they are extremely overpriced. When I first walked into the store I spotted a green fleece that zips up the front. It was nothing special, just a fleece, an $85 fleece! But I digress.

I walked around for awhile and when I found the water bottles, I picked the one I wanted and hopped in line to pay. In front of me was a couple with a little boy who I'd say was somewhere around the terrible two's. Both his parents were dressed like they were ready to hit the trails with their little one in tow, and it seemed he too would have preferred this because he was twisting and contorting himself in his mother's arms, trying to escape. Of course it wasn't enough that he was squirming and aggrevating his parents. He had to aggrevate everyone else in the store. Thus it was that he was screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, all the time with me behind him, a front row seat, lucky me.

As his cries reached unspeakable ear deafening decibels his mother intervened and proceeded to scold him. "Canyon!" she exclaimed. I nearly fell backwards. She might have just named him Granola, or Kayak, or Canoe for Pete's sake! This poor child has to live the rest of his life being named after a huge hole in the ground! Normally I might reason that this name was different, unique. But then I ask myself, "Would I want to be named Canyon?" No. It's one thing to be in touch with Mother Nature, but you yourself are not Mother Nature and your child should not be named as if he were the son of Mother Nature. I rest my case!