Emalee with an “m-a-l-e-e?”
Mychael with an “m-y-c-h-a-e-l?”
Those are just two examples that have me wondering if parents have taken leave of their senses in the quest for a unique identity for their child.
Many years ago, having suffered the indignities of an unusual name, I decided that I had carte blanche to give constructive criticism of people’s names. Yes, that’s right. If Wester wasn’t odd enough, Wester Wuori certainly gave me entrance into an exclusive club of those whose names stopped you in your tracks and made you think, “Did I just hear that right?”
Indeed, I was not a big fan of my name for about 20 years.
Wester? Wesley? Webster? Lester? Huh? What were your parents thinking?
Today, when I get carryout or make a restaurant reservation, I just use my son’s name. Seriously. It’s a traditional name, spelled in a traditional manner. Using it spares me the indignity of explaining to the confused order-taker that yes it’s a real name, no it’s not a mistake, and please just make it half pepperoni and half sausage and let me get off the phone right now before I dissolve into tears of humiliation.
Of course, this is tongue in cheek and, in my early 20s, I decided that, yes, Wester is an OK name. I’m actually named after my Finnish great grandfather who came who came to America in the early 1900s and settled in northern Minnesota. If it worked for him, who am I to judge?
My own kids have traditional names with no free-style spelling involved. Who knows? Maybe, years from now, my son will use my name when he’s ordering a pizza. OK, I doubt that, but one can hope.
I really am Wester Wuori, and that’s my perspective.