what's in a name?

 

When I was a kid, I did not like the name Katrina.  Not at all.  I often wished my parents would have named me Jennifer or Melissa or Stephanie.  Katrina was different.  In a world of mean little kids, where I already felt like I didn’t fit in, my name was just one more thing that set me apart.  There were no personalized items sold with my name on them (though I always looked just in case).  I don’t know why I felt like I needed a pencil, mug, toothbrush or key chain adorned with my name, but the fact that I couldn’t have one burned me up. 

I had short hair when all the girls had long hair. I was chubby. I wore glasses. I had an overbite.  Add to that a straight A average, playing the flute and a love of reading and you can see why I blamed it all on being named Katrina.  My name was NOT cool.  You see, had my parents named me Michelle or Amy or Angela, I would most definitely have been popular.  My face wouldn’t have broken out.  I would have been asked to dances.  I wouldn’t have won the shop award.  And I wouldn’t have constantly been asked if I was “walking on sunshine” and where were “the waves”?  If only I hadn’t been named Katrina.

Turns out, I’m much more comfortable with my name now.  I have a fucking hurricane named after me.  My friends and family call me “Kat” for short.  I like that – Kat is light and fun and cute – all of the things I longed to be way back when.  Now that I can order labels with my name on them I find I label everything possible with “Katrina”.  I even kind of like that my name is a bit different and hints at my Danish background (after all, Scandinavians are known for being incredible lovers, right?).  I’ve grown my hair out now, my teeth are straight, I sport stylish (Danish) glasses.  What was chubby before is now “curves in all the right places”.  Plus, it turns out intelligence is super sexy, as is being well read.  And the shop award?  That has been my pièce de résistance thus far in life. 

To think, I was almost named Danica…