One of the most interesting things to me is how parents decide to name their children. Why are some names immensely popular and others confined to a paltry few?
My first name was number 34 on the popularity list in the year I was born, according to a United States website that tracks such things. I couldn’t find a similar list for Canada, but judging by the fact that in every grade from 7 to 12, I was one of a minimum of four, it was, if anything, even more used in our country.
Like most girls named Catherine in my era, my moniker was immediately shortened at birth. But unlike most others of my ilk, my mother decided her daughter’s nickname would have an unusual spelling. So Cathie I became, apparently a challenge for almost everyone who’s ever known me. Regardless of how many times people see it in print, I usually get addressed with the “y” version. I try not to get cranky about it, but every once in a while it gets the best of me. However, even my own sons have addressed mail to me with an incorrect spelling, so I’m never surprised when it happens. Parents, think long and hard about the spelling of your child’s name. The cute Jaxson will not thank you when he’s 20.
My granddaughter, on the other hand, has a relatively unique handle. Named after her great grandfather – my dad – and her maternal grandfather, she is Henrietta Josephine. I love it for three reasons. Firstly because her parents were so thoughtful in naming her, secondly because neither name is totally obscure, and thirdly I can pronounce and spell both names.
In the year Henrietta was born (2011), only 83 baby girls in the U.S. shared her first name. Contrast that with the 20,099 little Sophias (the most popular girl’s name) of the same year. It’s doubtful our little girl will ever have to have the initial of her surname tacked on to Henrietta for identity. Even now I’m known by Cathie R., especially with my most important of friends, the Gibsons Best Book Club, where we make up three of the 10 members.
While I’ll always wonder why certain names tickle our fancy in different years, I suspect there’s no easy answer. For instance, why are the three top names in 1950 – Linda, Mary and Patricia – nowhere to be seen on a 2015 list? And alternatively, why are some very old-time names such as Hazel and Mabel suddenly in vogue again? At what point does familiarity breed contempt? And finally is a Rose by any other name still a Rose? What do you think?
