So Tony and I decided to buy the kids a fish. Well two fish actually. A little cute fishbowl, blue and aqua rocks and a sunken ship for ample hiding space. It was a huge success. They were glued to the counter that the bowl was sitting on and I was getting such a kick out of watching them laugh and talk to each other about it. So today we welcome "fishy", named by Rocco- and "Goldilocks", named by Dominic and seconded by Anthony. Anthony was really trying to come up with a great name so he was just trying to throw anything out there that came to mind. "How about Fishbowlfish? Or Goldfishswimmer? Or Housefishmorton? Then out spurts Dom with the Goldilocks. Hahahaha.. its a funny name especially seeing as how Dom "knew" it was a girl fish and seeing as how there aren't and bears around, or any porridge I'm not sure where the connection was made in his 4 yr old brain. Regardless, I loved both the names the kids picked and hope those names inspire these 19 cent feeder goldfish to hang on to life for more than a week or so.
So what is in a name anyway? Does what our parents name us have anything to do with who we turn out to be? How do people pick their nicknames out of many?
Are those of us who are named more hippy-like grow up to be more of a free spirit, out to save whales and rid our lives of anything to do with meat? Those of us named more traditional grow up to be straight-laced professionals with we-can-do-it attitudes and squeaky clean shoes?
Do the III, and IV of this world have identity issues? Perhaps its hard to find who you really are when you're from a great line of men who accomplished much, when life now makes it hard to accomplish little.
I suppose in my case I always thought I needed to be a little bit different. Maybe I craved attention, maybe I sought for approval from someone, from anyone who could give that to me. I dyed my hair crazy colors, I wore clothes from the thrift shop even tho my parents would happily buy me new clothes, I constantly had a boyfriend and at some times even two. I needed that approval. For some reason, I needed all those things so I could feel good about myself- and now looking back, I see it was all really just to fill a void.
When I was in high school, I was like one of only a couple Bre's that I knew of. It wasn't as popular of a name as it is now and I'm forever in the grocery store hearing some mom frantically yell my name to her 6 yr old daughter who has disappeared behind an aisle or display. In HS, I barely performed to my fullest potential. I sort of applied myself to my school work, I sort of applied myself to my extra-curricular activities; but I fully applied myself to trying to have people notice me and like me. Who lives day to day just trying to impress a group of people that at one time I probably peed my pants or puked in front of? Why did I care so much about the opinions of my peers?
Because I was a nobody.
I came from a family very well-known in my little town. My grandfather owned the town implement, my grandmother was a secretary for the school. My father and his siblings all went through high school being excellent at sports, or with a high G.P.A, good-looking, and they were all popular. Naturally popular.
Then there was me. The next wave of the Gwisdala name. Dorky with braces, crazy hair, no real fashion sense and with up and down weight issues, junior high welcomed me like ants to a picnic. I didn't know who I was. All of a sudden the friends you have had for years are grouped into different social circles. Friends you had during the summer wont even acknowledge you're alive once inside those cement walls. And amidst the crowded halls and all the hustle and bustle...you feel alone.
I remember trying out for the basketball team when I was in ninth grade. I had just gotten a cast off from breaking my foot during a game of lighting over at my neighbors house. Cast or not, I was never a good basketball player. Regardless, I still went and tried out because I sooo wanted to be around those girls. I remember the coach telling me I hadn't made the team, which wasn't really a surprise to me, but the thought of me having to tell my parents this was so upsetting to me. Would they see it as another failure in the book of me? I could only think how proud my dad would be of me if I had made that team. How proud I would have been of myself if I could have "belonged" to something so fabulous. Didn't my name give me passage to be there? To be cool and to belong?
I did surprise myself, and the world perhaps, when I made the volleyball team a few months later. I was actually pretty good at whole game and I was so thankful, and so happy to be a part of something like that. That team was made up of popular girls, not so popular girls and in betweeners like me. But on that court, we were all the same, and that harmony gave me alot of self-confidence and hope.
Freshman and JV volleyball came and went and in the weeks before my junior year tryouts, I found out news about the Varsity team. I wasn't super fond of the varsity coach, but I did respect her and admire her as a leader. I heard that the varsity team this year would be either wearing lolly bottoms (those that resemble underwear) or super super short spandex bottoms. Right then and there I got into a fight with my insecurities, my shortcomings, my low self-esteem; and they won. I chose to pass on trying out for that team, even though I knew I was good enough, because I knew I could not handle to wear those bottoms. They also played full court on the whole gym and the thought of everyone eyes on me every minute made me shudder. I missed those girls. I missed that feeling of belonging. I missed how it made me feel like I was somebody. That year I lost the last shred of self-confidence that my name was suppose to have given me. Its taken me till now to finally find me again.
Who was my name suppose to make me be?
It wasn't. It doesn't. It wont.
After too many years of believing this, keeping it ALL bottled up for far too long, and filling that black hole sized feeling of emptiness with food- Ive come to realize that a name is just a name. Just random letters someone at sometime threw together, made it sound nice and whipped it into a book with a diaper-clad baby on the front.
My name does not define me.
I define me.
Oh Bre. How often we fall on that "my name should give me a right of passage." And in Michigan, especially Standish, that is so true. I felt that same since of "right" because of our last name. However, my experience led me in a different directions. But, it is such a different experience to be to across the country where no one knows my last name (execpt "I have the teacher with the last name that I can't say"). No one knows about who my grandma and grandpa were, and frankly no one cares. I'm so thankful to get away from that. I want to make a name for myself and not be handed things based on my last name.
ReplyDeleteI thank you for sharing your story... today more than every I appreciated reading your blog. It makes me feel like everything that I'm dealing with or have dealt with, someone else has gone through too. :)
Tell your kiddos I love the name of their fish! So creative your kids are.