Shakespeare wrote these immortal words over 400 years ago and people have been arguing over exactly what IS in a name–and what makes a good one–ever since. Most recently, names have been in the news for a variety of reasons:
- Celebrity chef Jamie Oliver named his latest offspring River Rocket. Little River joins siblings Buddy Bear, Petal Blossom Rainbow, Daisy Boo, and Poppy Honey.
- According to Mumsnet, 18% of parents regret the name they give their child.
- The Office for National Statistics has just released their latest bulletin with the most popular baby names for 2015 (and I do hope that the 32 birth certificates with Baby as a name were just placeholders that turned up in the results!).
I have always found names fascinating. As a child, I named all my cuddly toys and I still like to use Behind the Name too look up the meanings and popularity of names (for example, with a ranking of 673, I don’t have to worry about running into too many Elaines). Getting to name all of your characters is one of the perks of writing fiction.
Yet it seems that naming real people has become more about showing the parents’ creativity, rather than thinking about the adult that the child will someday become. This can be seen in spellings that rival a hand of Scrabble, infantilising names that may be cute on a newborn but cringe-worthy on a teenager, and names that make the reader question whether it’s a birth announcement or a lunch order.
I can’t remember if there was a specific name that sparked the following story I wrote a few years ago, but I was curious to explore what it would be like as a teacher trying to juggle the trendy names, the unusual spellings and pronunciations, and the sheer volume of names that had reached the peak of their popularity. Keep reading to find out …
Mrs. Thompson always looked forward to back-to-school morning. After 30 years of teaching kindergarten, she still loved her job and loved meeting the kids. She even loved reassuring the parents that their child would be safe with her, and she prided herself that there were very few tears—from either child or parent—when the school year officially started the following week.
The routine of the back-to-school morning, or B2S as her school had recently taken to branding it, was always the same. The parents would review their child’s information card containing emergency contact number, allergies, and the like, and hand it in to Mrs. Thompson to file away. She would have a few minutes to chat to the parents and child, and, hopefully, get them excited about this new chapter in their life.
The first parent drifted into her classroom, a small boy trailing along behind her. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Thompson,” said Mrs. Thompson, extending her hand to the mother. “Lucy Jones,” she responded.
“Oh, then this must be David,” Mrs. Thompson knelt down to his eye level and gave her hand to the boy. He cautiously reached out and shook it, smiling shyly as he did so.
“Actually, we call him Davy,” Lucy said.
“Like the Monkee?” the words were out of Mrs. Thompson’s mouth before she could stop herself. She had a poster of Davy Jones on her wall eons ago, when she was a teenager.
“What?” Lucy looked suspicious. “Are you saying my son looks like a monkey?”
“No, no,” Mrs. Thompson said hurriedly. “Davy Jones was a singer. In a band called the Monkees. It’s no matter, it was a long time ago. Of course, we can write down that this little chap should be called Davy. Do you have your information card?”
Lucy handed it over and Mrs. Thompson carefully crossed out David and wrote in DAVY in block capitals. “No, not like that,” Lucy snapped, “With an –IE.” Mrs. Thompson crossed out DAVY and wrote in DAVIE.
“It was very nice to meet you, Davie,” she said. “I hope you’re looking forward to starting kindergarten on Monday with all the other big boys and girls. There’s juice and biscuits being served in the auditorium, would you and your mummy like some?”
Davie nodded, and Mrs. Thompson gave the mother directions to the auditorium. The boy seemed happy enough as they were leaving, but the mother was more uncertain. That had not gone at all like she was expecting. Could she be losing her touch?
The next person to enter the classroom was a father with a little girl with pigtails. She was holding on to his hand and swinging it back and forth as they walked. He stuck out his other hand before Mrs. Thompson had a chance to greet him. “Carlisle. Luke. And this is Izzy.”
The little girl smiled brightly and continued to swing her father’s hand. Mrs. Thompson positioned herself to avoid being hit and said, “Hi, Izzy! Is that short for Isabelle?”
“No, her name is Izzy. That’s what’s on the birth certificate,” her father said coolly.
“Izzy, Izzy, Izzy!” the little girl said and giggled.
“Yes, of course. And is Izzy looking forward to starting school?” said Mrs. Thompson, feeling like a bumblebee as she made her way around the zed sounds.
The girl didn’t answer, just giggled again and continued to wave her father’s hand back and forth. Mrs. Thompson quickly went through the information card with them and pointed them to the auditorium just as the third child entered with his father.
“This is Jack,” the man said, smiling as he ruffled his son’s hair.
“Hi, Jack,” said Mrs. Thompson. “What’s your full name?”
“Jack Ryan Dillon. I’m five years old and two months.”
“That’s great, Jack!” Mrs. Thompson enthused. “There will be two other boys named Jack in the class this year. Do you mind if I call you Jack Ryan so you know when I’m talking to you and not some other Jack?”
Jack shook his head, but his father spoke up. The smile was gone. “Actually, I mind. I was one of five Roberts when I was in school and hated being called Robert D. So please, just call him Jack.”
“Of course, Mr. Dillon,” Mrs. Thompson said, but inwardly groaned.
The next family walked in as she was giving directions to the auditorium and said, “Goodbye, Jack!” Jack waved goodbye and the new little boy piped up, “But I’m Jack!”
The mother laughed. “That little boy is named Jack too. Like Jack down the street.” She shook hands with Mrs. Thompson and said, “This is Jack Jackson. We call him Jack Jack.”
“And is that what you prefer he be called in class?” Mrs. Thompson asked weakly. The mother nodded and said, “Of course. It’s so cute, you know? Little Jack Jack.” Mrs. Thompson made a note on her registry.
Then came Yenoh. Mrs. Thompson had looked this one up earlier for an indication of how to pronounce it, and felt confident, if slightly silly, greeting the little girl with, “Hi, ya know”.
“It’s YEE-NOH. It’s ‘honey’ spelled backward,” the mother bristled.
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Thompson said, making a note.
Next was Poppee, who Mrs. Thompson feared would suffer from scatological bullying once the class learned to spell. Then the third Jack. And, showing up at the same time were Mason, Cooper, and Carter. What, no candle-stick maker? Mrs. Thompson thought, trying to sort out the three children and their parents. When Chandler Smith and her father walked in soon after, Mrs. Thompson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
After seeing off the Smiths, identical twins Taylor and Tyler walked in. It was highly unusual for twins to be placed in the same class, and Mrs. Thompson queried the parents about it.
“Are you sure you want them together? Miss Larchmont across the hall could take one and they would still see each other at lunch and on the playground. We find that it helps give them more confidence and independence to be apart.”
“Oh no, they must stay together. They’re twins! They love being together. Don’t you boys?”
The boys in question had stood on either side of their father, trying to slap each other behind his legs. At his voice, they stopped hitting each other and smiled up cherubically. It was no use. Taylor and Tyler were confirmed on the registry.
Finally, it was noon. Never could she remember a B2S morning being so exhausting. She was looking through the information cards, trying to remember who was who and wondering whether she needed to make up flashcards to keep her students straight. Mrs. Hughes, the head teacher, popped in to the classroom. “How did things go this morning, Janet?
“Fine, it was all fine,” Mrs. Thompson said distractedly. “But you know, I’m starting to think it may be time to retire.” She had a feeling the tears on the first day of school this year might be her own.
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