The Name Game

“In English my name means Christian. In Spanish it means the same. It means
potential; it means disappointment. It is like a breeze that gives you goosebumps.
And hand-me-down. It is a soap opera star with blonde hair and blue eyeshadow.

Alene is my godmother’s middle name and now it is mine. She is a caring woman,
raised like mein the small town of Danbury - which seems like a bad thing when
you’re young - but as an adult seems like a blessing.

My godmother. I am fortunate to know her as well as I do, a silent storm of a
woman who hides her intelligence and talent. Stifled by the hand she was dealt
and the life that she loves. Just like that, she refuses to fade. That’s the way she exists.

And her story goes and goes and goes. She has looked out the window her
whole life and smiled at the rural view. I wonder if she made the best with what
she got or was she sorry because she couldn’t be all the things she wanted to be?
Alene. I have inherited her name,
but I want to inherit her view.

People say my middle name funny as if asking me a question, as if I might have
mispronounced it. But when combined with my first and last, it seems to fit, to flow.
At home Kristi, to my family Kristi. At school Kristen out of necessity. But in my heart,
I am always Kristi.

I think my name fits me, the me that nobody sees. Kristen Alene Piper. Yes. I think
it fits me nicely.”

This is an imitation of Cynthia Cisneros’s vignette titled “My Name.” I wrote it in
2003 after reading her piece, and I love it to this day (albeit not as much as I love
her original).

But the bottom line is I don’t have a cool story to share about how my parents
picked my name. Because they didn’t. They let Aunt Joyce, my godmother, name me.
Kristen was an actress in her favorite soap opera, and Alene is her own middle name.
That’s the end of the story.

So let’s switch stories. Let’s move forward in time and talk about how I did choose your
name.

Ryan Anthony Piper

How did I choose it? Here’s the short answer. I have no idea.

I had spent months thinking about your name. I didn’t know your gender (and didn’t
want to know), so I was doing mental double duty. I would wrap my hands around my
mouth like a megaphone and call out names as if I were a sports announcer. “Second
baseman David Andrew Piper!” Naaahhh. That’s no good. “Ladies and gentlemen,
Senator Angela Kay Piper.” Oh, I like that one.

And so it went. On and on until I landed on two that I liked. And both were troublesome.

If you were a girl, your name would be Sam Kay Piper. Mamaw was furious. She
insisted that I would not name her granddaughter Sam. Why? Because she said so.
I could, with her blessing, name you Samantha and call you Sam. But your name would
not be Sam. I insisted. If I can call her Sam, why can’t I name her Sam. It all came
down to the age old argument because she said so. Not on her watch. I would tell you
our compromise, but there wasn’t one. Secretly, Sam was still the game plan.  

Fortunately, Jesus took the wheel and helped us avert a family meltdown. You were
never meant to be a Sam or a Samantha.

You were meant to be a Danny. Yes, you read that correctly. If you were a boy, your
name was to be Danny Kyle Piper. Why would this be troublesome? Well, you probably
don’t know this, but your Aunt Judy was once married to a man named Danny.
“Ummmmm...Judy, would it be OK if I named your first nephew after your ex-husband?
That’s not a problem, is it?” See? Troublesome.

So, in summation, at this point in my pregnancy I have a girl’s name that my mother
says is banned, and a boy’s name that my sister can’t stand.  But why do things the
easy way? I’m stubborn, and I loved both names.

And then you were born...more of that story later.

And as I held you in my arms, admiring your squishy, squirmy handsome beauty,
the nurse asked, “What’s his name?”

Ryan Anthony Piper

That’s what I said. Ryan Anthony Piper. I didn’t remember saying it, but I did
remember being asked. At some point, hours later and with a different nurse in the
room, I had to swallow my pride and ask, “Ma’am, what is his name?” She looked at
me blankly but didn’t answer. “His name. I can’t remember what I named him.”

“Ryan. His name is Ryan.” It wasn’t until much later that Papaw told me your
middle name.

Ryan Anthony Piper

Like I said before, I don’t know why I picked it. I have no idea where it came from,
but I love it. I can only assume it was divine intervention because it suits you
perfectly.