Before I was born, my mother had two names picked out for me–I was going to be either Lydia or Laurel. She liked them because they were slightly unusual and, being an artist herself, saw them as having a creative feel; she was also following the Jewish tradition of using the first initial of a deceased relative. In this case, it was my father’s mother, who had recently died, and whose first and middle initials were R and L.
But once I actually made my appearance, Lydia and Laurel were never heard of again. Whatever transpired in the hospital I’ll never know–something to do with pressure by my Dad’s sisters for names closer to their mother’s–but in any case, I arrived home with a birth certificate reading Ruth Leila. To confuse matters further, I was never ever called Ruth. Instead I was known to one and all by my Jewish name, Laila. So little Laila became who I was–that is until the fateful day when I started kindergarten and my teacher, looking at my records, naturally called me Ruth. Ruth? Who is Ruth? In one fell swoop, my identity was shattered. (So don’t anyone ever ask me if you should change your child’s name in midstream–you can imagine my answer.)
I returned home from school completely distraught, no longer sure quite who I was. My sympathetic mother said ‘OK, dear, if it would make you feel better, how about starting from scratch and picking a totally new name for yourself?’ Not having a name book handy, she proceeded to make lists of names starting with those two letters (again Lydia and Laurel went missing)–Leah, Leslie, Louise, Rachel, Roxanne, etc. I picked Linda, which at the time sounded appealingly bright and shiny to me. But choosing a new name at the age of five doesn’t mean you necessarily instantly internalize it and make your own–which is something I never did. But the experience did trigger my lifelong fascination with names.
Through the years I’ve accumulated many nicknames–perhaps because friends also sensed that I wasn’t an authentic Linda. My family often called me Lin, while others came up with Linnie, Lindy, Linneth, Linden, Linsy, and even–in the internet era–my email tag Lindro. Lately, though, with the growing popularity of so many pretty double-L names, like Lola and Lila and Lilo and Lily and Leyla, I’ve started to really miss Laila. As a matter of fact, a new friend, hearing my name saga, has started to call me that. And you know what? It really feels like me.
I’d love to hear anyone else’s story about a name change that didn’t take, or of not feeling comfortable with your own name for some other reason.
Tags: family names, Jewish baby names, Jewish traditions, Lila, Lily, Linda, Lola, name change, name identity
This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 17th, 2008 at 12:31 am and is filed under Jewish baby names, Uncategorized, family names, family traditions, name and identity, religious names . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
, so i chose L’isle as one mn. i also chose Graice, as dad’s mom’s name was Grayce.
i have chosen; Jo, for her deceased brother Joe, who i heard was my favie uncle when i was 2. so JO, is the 1st 2 letters in the names; John, Joan & Joe. John was my adoptive dad’s 1st name, that he NEVER used. i feel that is a nice way of honoring all 3.
December 17th, 2008 at 2:14 am
My mother went through a similar experience. Went through her life believing her name to be Mary-Beth, then when she turned 16 and went to get her license, my grandmother told her “By the way, when you sign your name, it’s actually Mary Elizabeth”
Turns out my Grandfather had wanted Mary Elizabeth, two names, but my Grandmother wanted the one name Mary-Beth, and while she was passed out/recuperating after giving birth, he put Mary Elizabeth on the birth certificate. She’s gone by Mary ever since, but old friends and family still call her Mary-Beth