What's in a name

My father has always called me Dizzy. In fact, I can't remember the last time he addressed me as Elizabeth. The only time I hear my name is when he is speaking to other people, and it always rings so formal.

'Yes, my daughter Elizabeth...'

And so on and so forth.

Sometimes I hear it in passing and it makes me wonder, who is that person he is describing?

But I'm not Elizabeth to him, I'm dizzy.

And bless my sweet momma, but whenever she meets my friends, there will always be the inevitable: 'leuhzbuth'

'Oh your mom calls you lizbeth, that's a neat name.'

'No.'

'Oh, I just heard her say that.'

'No, she said Elizabeth.'

And while neither of my parents call me Elizabeth- there's always the inevitable conversation with new acquaintances.

'Oh, so you're Elizabeth.'
'Hi, nice to meet you.'
'So, do you go by Liz or Elizabeth?'

To which I always think, but hold my tongue (now), we've spoken three sentences and two of them were introductory phrases in which I said Elizabeth...

For years, people have made me feel like my name was an inconvenience.

Like it simply took too much time to say, to go through the whole rigmarole, and for Pete's (not Peter's) sake, why can't you have a shorter name.

Staunch and authoritative in my 7 year old personality, I hunkered down, and prepared for the fight. I was named Elizabeth, dammit, and whether or not I liked my name, was going to keep it, at any rate.

And so, positioned severely in opposition to this three letter whisper of the name that Elizabeth could be. I felt an urgency and a rebellion. Not Liz. NOT Liz.

And that's nothing- absolutely nothing against the name Liz. It's simply a decision- a different name, and not mine.

But of course, there are also the people who don't ask at all. You find yourself introducing yourself as Elizabeth and five minutes later an IPA is being slung down the bar for you and someone in a group of your 'new best friends' saying, hey everybody, this is Liz...

Different than having called me by the wrong name.. 'Hey everybody, this is Sarah,' this hits a nerve.

Not only did you hear my name when I told it to you, you heard, and went on to make an executive decision that either you, me, or both of us prefer that my name be Liz, so let's just skip the details and have a beer.

But in spite of having this profound aversion to my being, well, renamed...

Nicknames have followed me my entire life - some adamantly against my will, and some I grew into with acceptance.

Dizzy, Eliz, E-girl, Biz, Bita, Eli, Whit. Little Bit. Beth. Lizzy, Biff, Eliza Jane, (thank you Uncle Tom)

And in Haiti some colorful ones.

Queen (Elizabeth). Elizabet, Isabelle, betta, and so forth.

Names are such powerful things.

And it's not as if these names have come and gone. They grow. They're how I'm known as to those people.

And I, well I'm such an Elizabeth.

Named for my family. Proud of my name.

Never shortening it or changing it myself.

Always Elizabeth.

And all of these nicknames?

All the ways people call me?

Our relationships, our stories.

Nick names, and loved ones.

I think names are important things, maybe one of the most important things.

And maybe you can change them yourself,

but maybe you're always who you were named, and you're always who you are-to the people who love you.

To the people who call you.