My parents chose my name. My middle name is my fathers first name, and his I believe is related to one of his grandparents. I admire the icelandic people because name construction is a rather straightforward affair and delightfully chained together with either -son or -dottir. I imagine my family was quite fond of biblical names, since we have so many, Joseph, John, James, Theresa, Martha, Timothy, Andrew… and that seems to be more influenced by my father’s side where all the biblical names are hanging out. On my mother’s side, the names aren’t biblical at all. Susan, Mildred, Allen, Reuben. I’m quite happy with my given name, and I think it fits me well. There is something to note however, people who call me by my complete given name irritate me. Being called Andrew sets me on edge. It’s not that I don’t like it, but it makes me very agitated and skitterish. I much prefer Andy. The people who call me Andrew, if they are really paying attention will notice a look that I’ll give them, and it’s not altogether pleasant. All of that reaction is really quite reflexive. It’s almost as reflexive as when someone whines at me. I cannot brook whining. I have to clench my fingers into tightly controlled fists and lock up my arms to prevent myself from grabbing the whining person and shake and slap them senseless.
Funny that these prompts evolve into other discussions very easily. Naughty! 😉
