Continuing on this week's apparent theme of graduation days, I think now would be an appropriate time to speak of my current side project at work.
As an aside, I haven't established on this blog exactly what my regular job is, have I? Since my second semester at Penn State, waaaaaay back in the early Paleolithic (otherwise known as 1989), I've been a journalist. Most of the time I've been in the sports department, but in my current incarnation, at Lancaster Newspapers in bucolic Lancaster County, Pa., I toil nightly on the news desk. Primarily I edit stories and design news pages. But at this time of year, I step into another role.
I am Graduation Wench.
Fear meh.
For several weeks each year, I spend lots of extra time reaching out to area high school administrators, asking for lists of who's graduating and who's being honored with various and sundry awards. As the lists come in, I whip them into printable files and make sure they get in the paper when they need to.
Like much when working with lots of names and lots of different providers of information, it's a ballet, a whirling dervish of moving parts. But Zod help you if there's a name spelled wrong -- even if it's the school's error.
Seriously, though, I wouldn't necessarily blame either institution, the school or the paper. I mean, have you seen the way people spell these days? Twitterverse aside, nowhere is that more obvious than in the pantheon of kids' names.
Among the grad lists slipping into my work email today, for example, there were a proliferation of Brittanys. Six from one graduating class alone. But it's not just "Brittany." Oh no. There's also Britteny, Britney, Brittannie and the ever-popular Britnei.
Among the names at one local educational establishment was Mercedes. Nice, I thought. That's a pleasant return to an old-school name. Perhaps she was named in honor of a dear grandmother. Then, a little farther down the list was Mercedes' classmate ... Lexus. Undoubtedly named in honor of Dad's first really sweet ride.
At this point, only a small percentage of the lists I'm expecting have been turned in, but there are a number of very inventive names thusfar.
I've also seen Amberlene, Micoleen and Yann; Merikka, AhnaMarie and Clest.
Yes, Clest.
I've got nothing on that one. I googled, and came up with precious little in terms of mid-1990s pop culture references that may have led to it. Can't think of anything it could be short for, either.
Of course, my absolute favorite came a few years ago. We had a young man named, no lie, Tanthalas, whose folks were obviously into sci-fi. Geek chic at its best. What's more, he got his certificate in plumbing from the vo-tech. He was Tanthalas the elven plumber. We Geeks and Geek-adjacents in the office applauded most heartily. We didn't know this young man, but he seemed one of us.
As an addenda, though, recent googling shows he is now a male model in Vegas. I am not making this up. I couldn't make this up.
Anyway.
When I see names like these I always wonder what the parents are driving at. I get that parents love their kids fiercely, intensely, and want them to be different -- to stand out above the crowd so that everyone notices them and thinks they're as awesome as they are to Mom and Pop. That's wonderful.
But I have to question if an out-there name -- or an out-there spelling of a name -- is the best solution. You're handing your kid a lifetime of "What's that?" or "It's spelled HOW?" And ... what if the kid hates it or doesn't grow into it? I guess that's what nicknames are for.
Really, I'm not writing this to be smart or mean. I'm merely attempting to make an observation from the other side of the fence. In sports, tons of names get called in every night. As someone who's pulled many a phone shift, taking mountains of track meets and basketball box scores, I know that the first rule is always "Ask how to spell every name." There's plenty of "Is that Cory with an e or without?" or "Jenny with an i or a y?"And I'm here to tell you, coaches and scorekeepers don't always know if it's Marc, Mark or Marq ... and they don't always care. If I had a buck for every time the person on the other end of the line said, "I dunno, just make it up," I could afford some very nice stuff.
I'm not the only one in the family who's got some good name stories, either. My sister is a nurse at a children's hospital. She's seen some doozies, and not just confined to her patients. She had a co-worker who named her child ... ready? ... "Booyah."
Couldn't she have just named her boy Sioux?
No comments:
Post a Comment