The Moon Key

Have you ever really thought about your name? Ashley, Jennifer, Michael, Albert… Chances are whatever your name is—whether there are at least three kids with your same name in your grade and the teachers are always getting you mixed up, or you have the oddest name and you can never find those personalized pens or key chains with your name on it—you probably wish you had a different one.

It seems like everyone I know thinks they should be named something else. My good friend April Moon wishes that her parents, who didn’t speak English very well at the time, hadn’t looked up at the calendar in the hospital after she had been born and picked the name of the month because it had a beautiful picture of cherry blossoms over the word “April.” She’s pretty sure that her parents thought they were naming her for the flowers.

My foster brother Ralphie, wishes that he hadn’t been named for his father. It’s confusing, and he would rather have his own name, preferably Lance because of Lance Armstrong and ‘cause it sounds like a knight’s name. My LATCH buddy, Pedro, wishes that his name wasn’t so common. There were seven “Pedros” in his confirmation class. I’m not sure, but I think he’d like to be called Brad, after Brad Pitt.

In fact, maybe the only person I know who seems really pleased with his name is Phillip Huntington IV. If Phillip could, he’d probably wear an engraved silver nametag 24/7 just to remind everyone of how important he thinks he and his family really are. Is that obnoxious, or what? Anyhow, you know what I think of Phillip…

But, whatever your name, chances are pretty good that you know why you have it. You may be named for a relative, like a beloved grandmother or a cousin. Or maybe, you were named for someone one of your parents really admired, like a famous movie star or a basketball player or a character in a book. But, at least, you know that someone picked your name for a reason, because they wanted you to have a name that meant something to them, a name that might inspire you. If that’s true for you, I’d say you were pretty lucky.

The thing is, I ended up with my name, Wendy, because my parents wrote a note on a napkin from a Wendy’s Restaurant. After they wrote the note, they tucked it in the basket that I was lying in… I was only a couple of days old… and then they left me. I know that they cared about me because the note said, Please take care of her. We’ll be back. But, I can’t lie to you, I wish they had said, “Please take care of Katie… or Alex… or even Gertrude.” Because no one knew what my name really was, the name from the napkin stuck. How would you feel if you were named after a hamburger place? Imagine if you were named “McDonald?”

I guess I shouldn’t complain. Now that I think of it, it could have been worse.

And then, of course, there’s my last name. I’m pretty sure that most of you have the last name of at least one of your parents. I’m not trying to go for a sympathy vote here, but I was named for a hotel towel, the towel I was wrapped in back in that basket. Now granted, “Hilton,” is a pretty cool name, especially right now with Paris Hilton all over TV and magazine covers. And, I’ve heard the hotels are nice, but, the thing is, unless there’s some pretty weird coincidence, it’s not my real name.

And, I guess that’s my point, a real name is important. It connects you to your roots, your family. I would give anything to know my real name. Maybe one day, I’ll discover it….