my name is not melanie

My name is not Melanie. It never has been or has ever wanted to be. I would have been named Debbie if my famous namesake, Debbie Reynolds, had not gotten a divorce, which turned my mother against the idea of naming me after her. So since I could not be named Jeffrey James, for obvious reasons, I was named after my mother's grandmother, Mary, and not after the Virgin Mary as some have assumed since I did grow up in a Catholic household. Of course this gave my devoted Catholic mother a legitimate reason to name me Mary, just in case my father's Protestant relatives were wondering. The Ellen part is an attempt to name me in some way after my father whose middle name is Allen.

It would not be until I started school that I was called anything but Mary. Because it was 1966 and Mary was a popular name, there were five little Marys which presented a problem for me and my need for an independent identity. I decided then and there that I could not possibly go through life as Mary Tate, or Mary T. as called by the teacher taking roll. To me my name was about as exciting as Jane Doe. So I suggested that the teacher call me Mary Ellen and though in the future I would have to endure, "Good Night, Mary Ellen . . . John Boy. . . Jim Bob . . . ,"  it seemed to be a better choice.

By the time I got to college, the nicknames began. M. E. was the most popular. Tate also worked until it evolved into Tater. A farm girl with freckles who liked to go barefoot could not possibly be helped by being called Tater. A wonderful graduate student who thought I looked like Meryl Streep called me Meryl, while a close guy friend whom I should never have dated called me Merlin. I think by this time each person I knew felt a responsibility to come up with his/her own name to call me. It gave them all a challenge.

The tricky thing about nicknames is that when one creates a term of endearment, it can be awkward if others try to use it. When my mother attempted to call me Melba, the nickname coined by my friend, Tia, I had to put a stop to it. Of course my mother may have been trying to get my attention since she decided once I became an adult I should call her Mother instead of Mama, like I have been doing ever since I can remember. She even started calling me Mary Ellen instead of Mary perhaps to emphasize the point that even she could change. I didn't buy it.

As I entered my young adult years and had moved away from the people who knew me by whatever name they had decided to call me, I thought at one point of referring to myself only as Ellen. There are not nearly as many Ellens running around as there are Marys. (Of course there is now one on television who is always dancing.) The name Ellen seems to stand on its own, unlike Mary which always seems to have another name attached to it. If I had gone with the name Ellen, someone undoubtedly would have started calling me E. T. and though I tend to be a bit otherworldly at times, I'm not sure being compared to a strange-looking creature would have reduced my insecure tendencies.  

I have possibly been called all of the following more than once: Mary Ann, Mary Kay, Mary Sue, Mary Lou, Mary Beth, Mary Alice, Mary Frances, Mary Jane, Mary Helen, and Sue Ellen. I've also been mistaken for other people quite frequently but that is a whole other story. My twin goes to the local synagogue I am told. I wonder what her name is.

In recent years I have been called Melanie probably more than any other name that is not mine. It is unfortunate that there is a woman with the same married name as me who actually has this name--unfortunate for me, not her. We used to go to the same church. I could never understand why when there were at least four or five Melanies and only ONE Mary Ellen that I would be called Melanie. I still don't.

So today, when a very sweet woman, excited to see me and hug me, exclaimed, "Melanie!" my heart sort of sank a little. When I corrected her, like I usually do, she said she was close. She wasn't.