Shell Shocked: A name is a name is a name
I was named Arthur when I was born. But my parents, who were foreign born, pronounced it Otta. So growing up in the streets of the Bronx, my friends followed suit and for the first ten years of my life I was called Otta, or even worse.
I then graduated to the correct pronunciation of Arthur. I guess my friends got tired of the punches in the arm they received from me every time they called me Otta. But with the name of Arthur came the ribbing. I became King Arthur, the king of my block. Every time my friends would pass me on the street I would hear something like, “Oh, King Arthur. How goeth it? Can we bring you more knaves for your kingdom today?”
I kind of enjoyed being called King Arthur. It was certainly better than Otta. My parents continued to call me Otta but it was the outside world that mattered more to me.
And then one day when I was in my teens I began to be called Artie, the diminutive of Arthur. King Artie didn’t really fit so I lost my kingdom and my throne as quickly as I had gotten it. I wasn’t sure about Artie though. It was squeamishly cute but not too gentlemanly. I didn’t know of any other Arties in real life, public life or Martian life. But Artie stuck for a while — until college.
In college my moniker changed from Artie to Art, the name I have now lived with for many years. I’m not sure how it came to be. Evolution, I guess. From Otta to Arthur to Artie to Art. Not only have I adapted to the newest incarnation of my first name but I learned to love it. There are so many things you can do with Art.
Every time I was engaged in a conversation about art, not Art, I would smile. The conversation would be about works of art. When my friends saw the smile on my face, one would say, “This isn’t about you, Art. We’re talking about works of art, like Picasso.” I would respond by saying, “You can find art everywhere and that includes me.” I still get a kick out of being present when the conversation turns to art — works of art, for the sake of art, the importance of art, etc. I smile and my friends get it.
So I was Arthur, Otta, Artie and Art. That’s four iterations. But what about people named Richard? They learn to live with Richard, Rich, Richie, Dick and Dickie. Or even initials like RL if they so choose.
My niece named one of her sons Harrison. She thought it was chique and upscale. She thought he would go far with a name like that. When Harrison’s granddad began to call him Harry, my niece was horrified. She said to Harrison’s granddad that his name was Harrison, not Harry. He replied by suggesting to her that all of Harrison’s friends would be calling him Harry. So she changed his first name from Harrison to Shea.
Whatever happened to Tom, Dick and Harry? Today’s children are given such names as Electra, Montage, Bimminy and Coranda. As for me I’ll live with for the sake of Art.