A Rose By Any Other Name
Growing up, I hated my name. I asked my parents countless times why they didn’t name me something less conspicuous.
My dad said he wanted to name me Denise, but my mother would hear nothing of it. So Abigail it was. Named after no one specifically, although the main criteria was that I have a Bible name.
What a lot of good it did them!
As a child I wanted to blend in, but hardly ever did. And my name didn’t help.
Teachers noticed my name first day at school and didn’t forget it the entire year. I got called on a lot more than I would have liked. Not great for a shy child.
The one thing I wouldn’t stand for was anyone shortening my name. I utterly refused to respond to Abby. Well, except from my dad.
That is until I started working in a busy environment where there was no time for pleasantries. And Abby I became – at work and eventually at home as well.
The reason for my post about my name came about because recently my someone special said it in such I way that it made a huge impression.
I’ve long since ago stopped loathing my name. I think I fit into it better as an adult.
My nieces and nephew call me Abby. No aunty attached. My parents, siblings, colleagues and friends all do the same.
But there’s one person who says it in such a way that makes my heart skip a few beats.
I wonder if the name Denise would’ve had the same effect 
Probably…
