I’ve always thought that my name has had a direct influence on me. I mean, title dictates behavior, and over the years that a lot of my actions would have been different if my parents would have had the guts to call me by their second choice: Barnaby. Yes, that’s right, Barnaby Fowler would have been a much different creature to the one I am today.
Barney would have been a lovable, perhaps slightly dimwitted fellow. Would he have been taller? Thought of as more dependable guy? More attractive to the opposite sex? Who can say, but I am a firm believer in this notion, and I do find myself thinking about it quite a lot.
In January of this year, my sister gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. When it came time for her to name this child, she immediately thought that she’d have to drop the nickname of “Buddy” (named after a character in the movie Elf, starring Will Ferrell) that she’d been using to refer to the tyke while he was inside her tummy. “No, we can’t call Buddy ‘Buddy’,” she said. “Lets call Buddy ‘Oscar’”. Her dependable hubby Dave agreed. But when it came time for them to sign the birth certificate, the name just didn’t stick. This child wasn’t an Oscar; he was a Buddy. I’m sure in some parallel universe Oscar Lamb is walking around somewhere, but I’m sure he’s nowhere near as loveable as this chubby-faced little guy.
For those facing the same predicament, there are all sorts of techniques available to help with the decision. The Big Book of Baby Names is a good place to start (Mergatroyd is cool name for any of you brave parents out there). Some web-savvy parents decided to base their decision over what domain name they could secure for them (“MableKinsella.com, come down for dinner!”). I would suggest simply googling the name you prefer just in case: For a long time I’ve wanted to call my daughter (if I ever have one) Audrey Rose, but unfortunately Audrey Rose is coincidentally the name of an obscure 1970s horror film. I guess I should keep searching.
