The Name Game

So I'm taking this Sunday School class on Acts. ("Oh, I get it!" I said, "'Acts of the Apostles'--it's just stuff they did!" When you're moving on from illiteracy, the first step is to be unashamed, and celebrate every tidbit of new learning.) And there was this Levite named Joseph, who got renamed Barnabas, which means Son of Encouragement. Why are people always getting new names in the Bible?

With my hippy upbringing, I've known a long string of people who have clothed themselves in new monikers, and it's always irked me. Mike, who became Uthman, then Uthmichael, then Michael, and finally Dirtyrottenskunk (my mother's name for him) when he broke my sister's heart. David Sunfellow, Yanna, Gita . . . the list goes on. But the best one comes from the time when the bridge was out.

Mom and I came home one afternoon, to find the boat on the other side of the river. We were stranded away from home instead of at home. What to do? We called and called until we were practically hoarse, and finally a strange figure came hurrying down the hill from the house. Who was this guy, who had just helped himself, first to our boat, and then to our home? From across the river, he raised his hand in greeting and yelled, "Giturinon." After exchanging a confused glance, Mom and I both decided that this must be "hello" in his language. Cupping our hands around our mouths, we shouted back: "Giturinon to you, too!"

At that point, he hopped lightly in the boat, and paddled frenetically in our direction. The man didn't even know how to hold a paddle, adding to our impression that he must be from some faraway land.

But no, as it turned out when he finally got across to us, he was merely a friend of Dad's from Virginia Beach. Dad had sent Giturinon our way, assuring him that he'd get a friendly welcome. And good ole Giturinon probably thought he did. But in our private Mama-and-Cindy place, we were happy to send him on his way when the time came. Giturinon, really.

And that's been my take on the whole renaming thing. If I could raise one eyebrow, I would.

Until the day before yesterday, when I had occasion to sign my name in an unusually complete way: Cindy Henry McMahon. The fact is, I was happy to change my own name 14 years ago, when I shucked Cindy Henry to become Cindy McMahon. A chance to leave that old baggage behind at last. Leave all!

But at the end of this journey, when I have an honest-to-goodness book to send out into the world, I've decided that the cover will carry a new name--my whole name. Cindy Henry McMahon. All of me.

Please pass the crow.