What's In a Name?
From Pulp Fiction:
My zen imbecile friend recently posted her excellent thoughts on traditional (and nontraditional) naming conventions and it has inspired me to consider that topic myself.
I have a long-standing battle with most of my family members. In spite of repeated attempts on my part to put a stop to it, they insist on calling me Tammy. It frustrates me. That is not my name. My name is Tamara. I like my name. It’s a good name.
Before I ruffle any feathers, I should add that I know none of them is mal-intentioned. They’re not trying to bug me. So I try to be patient with their defense:
That argument doesn’t really hold up considering I have been persisting that “Tammy is not my name (and please do not call me that)” since I was twelve years old. If you would have put forth the effort to change the habit TWENTY-THREE years ago, then you could now easily say I was called Tammy for not my whole life, but a mere third of my life and that really, I have indeed been Tamara, for the vast majority (specifically two-thirds) of MY LIFE. Sorry. Now that that’s out of the way…
I’m wondering why I care so much. What’s wrong with “Tammy” anyway? Is it such a bad name? Now that I have named my own children, I can imagine my own mother, young, naive and swollen-bellied, daydreaming about what she would name her firstborn child. She chose Tamara. (And we shall call her Tammy.) Much like I have chosen to name my first babe Elias. (And we shall call him Eli.) No, it’s not such a bad idea at all.
To further speak for my mother, I would be remiss if I do not confess that I will be sorely disappointed should Eli or Lena pop up in eight years insisting that any form of their name, shortened or not, is a disgrace. What? You must be kidding me. Your name ROCKS. You kids have awesome names. Hmph. To each their own…
So what’s my problem? The problem may be rooted in my childhood. (Duh.) Any one of the following explanations might work:
My name is Tamara Lee. What does that mean? Well, literally, Tamara is a variant of the Hebrew name, Tamar, meaning palm tree or date tree. Tamar was the daughter-in-law of Judah in the Old Testament. Also in the Old Testament, this was the name of a daughter of David. Lee is of Old English origin, and its meaning is pasture or meadow. I was named after my Aunt (Sandra Lee).
When I converted to Judaism, I got to choose a Hebrew name for myself. I chose Tamar Baruch. Baruch means blessed. Tamar Baruch. Lovely, is it not? Much like Tamara Lee.
So I have to disagree with Mr. Tarentino on this one. Our names do mean shit. They do.
Tamara.
That’s my name.
Don’t wear it out.
"Esmeralda: What is your name?
Butch: Butch.
Esmeralda: What does it mean?
Butch: I'm American, honey. Our names don't mean shit."
My zen imbecile friend recently posted her excellent thoughts on traditional (and nontraditional) naming conventions and it has inspired me to consider that topic myself.
I have a long-standing battle with most of my family members. In spite of repeated attempts on my part to put a stop to it, they insist on calling me Tammy. It frustrates me. That is not my name. My name is Tamara. I like my name. It’s a good name.
Before I ruffle any feathers, I should add that I know none of them is mal-intentioned. They’re not trying to bug me. So I try to be patient with their defense:
"Tammy, Oh! I mean Tamara...
I’m sorry…
I’m trying…
It’s just… you’ve been “Tammy” your WHOLE life...”
That argument doesn’t really hold up considering I have been persisting that “Tammy is not my name (and please do not call me that)” since I was twelve years old. If you would have put forth the effort to change the habit TWENTY-THREE years ago, then you could now easily say I was called Tammy for not my whole life, but a mere third of my life and that really, I have indeed been Tamara, for the vast majority (specifically two-thirds) of MY LIFE. Sorry. Now that that’s out of the way…
I’m wondering why I care so much. What’s wrong with “Tammy” anyway? Is it such a bad name? Now that I have named my own children, I can imagine my own mother, young, naive and swollen-bellied, daydreaming about what she would name her firstborn child. She chose Tamara. (And we shall call her Tammy.) Much like I have chosen to name my first babe Elias. (And we shall call him Eli.) No, it’s not such a bad idea at all.
To further speak for my mother, I would be remiss if I do not confess that I will be sorely disappointed should Eli or Lena pop up in eight years insisting that any form of their name, shortened or not, is a disgrace. What? You must be kidding me. Your name ROCKS. You kids have awesome names. Hmph. To each their own…
So what’s my problem? The problem may be rooted in my childhood. (Duh.) Any one of the following explanations might work:
- Nicknames are for kids. Although I remember nothing specific, knowing me, I am sure my persistent desire to be called Tamara at age twelve was not completely unrelated to wanting to grow up, to be respected. I was ready to be a grown-up eons before I had any inkling of how uncool it actually is.
- Be your own person. Everybody wants to be unique. As a twin, I imagine I had an even stronger than usual need to feel distinct from others. And when I was in elementary school, there were lots and lots and let me say again lots of Tammy’s. I was Tammy C. for years. We had Tammy B. and Tammy J. and Tammy E. and Tammy V., and that was just in homeroom, just one year. Every year there was a slew of Tammy’s, all with our own very unique surname initial to distinguish us. How special for us. I eventually determined that there were no Tamara’s. So I became Tamara. Only one of those. Nice.
- Have a little class. Think about all the Tammy’s you’ve known. What have they been like? What have they looked like? I don’t know about you, but all the ones I have known summon visions of Chevy Camaro’s, late-night under-the-bleachers activity, and bad perms. Just think the name to yourself. Or better yet, say it out loud. Here, I’ll say it with you. “Tammy.” Ugh. Shudder. Not convinced that the average "Tammy" is usually wrong-side-of-the-tracks material? Consider your famous Tammy’s. There's the mascara-laden Tammy Faye Baker, the story-telling, banged-up Tammy Wynette, the (fictitious) good-hearted and so simple-minded Tammy Tyree made famous by Sandra Dee. They all scream of trailer park. Trailer. Park.
My name is Tamara Lee. What does that mean? Well, literally, Tamara is a variant of the Hebrew name, Tamar, meaning palm tree or date tree. Tamar was the daughter-in-law of Judah in the Old Testament. Also in the Old Testament, this was the name of a daughter of David. Lee is of Old English origin, and its meaning is pasture or meadow. I was named after my Aunt (Sandra Lee).
When I converted to Judaism, I got to choose a Hebrew name for myself. I chose Tamar Baruch. Baruch means blessed. Tamar Baruch. Lovely, is it not? Much like Tamara Lee.
So I have to disagree with Mr. Tarentino on this one. Our names do mean shit. They do.
Tamara.
That’s my name.
Don’t wear it out.
Comments
See you later, you "pasturized date tree." (giggle)
Family and close friends do call me Colie. My (now 13-year-old) niece christened me with that and it stuck. It's alright. Don't love it, don't hate it.
Incidentally, I (I mean we) chose our daughter's name - Claire - in part because it has no nicknames.
Unlike Tamara, tho, there are FAR too many Grandmas named Barbara... and in fact, on our recent trip to Germany, I was joking with my mom and sis that I was gonna change my name to Julie, which is a name I've loved for as long as I can remember. (and for as long as I can remember, I've HATED my name) So how bout it, can you call me Julie please? ;)