Each year on the first day of school, there were kids who came back as entirely new people. They’d correct the teacher during role call.
“Erin?” the teacher would ask, scanning the room.
“I’m Nikki now,” Erin would say, presumptively going by her middle name.
One girl changed her name so many times that by sixth grade, the only thing left to alter was the pronunciation of her name.
“I’m not Tabitha anymore, I am Tab-eye-tha now.”
There was something admirable about how brave these kids were to just proclaim themselves someone new. I didn’t think I would have the courage to do that. Like most kids, I didn’t love my name but I didn’t loathe it either. I just brooded about how unfair it was to have no control over it. Keep reading »