I am the oldest of three children, so I was the first chance my parents had to fight over names. We’re each three years apart, so they had nine years to keep the name game alive. I don’t think they agreed on any.

My mother was particularly annoyed by my dad’s instance regarding naming my youngest brother “Michael.” For one, my uncle is Michael. My mom thought two in the immediate family might be a step too far. Second, my godfather and dad’s best friend was also Michael. And then there was me, the big sister.

The big sister Michelle.

My dad got his wish – he can be very stubborn – so both my brother and I have the same name. It comes from the French Michel, derived from the Hebrew name Michael, and it means, “he who is like the Lord.” Is it ironic that my brother and I are both atheists?

Allan stayed out of the mess entirely – his names are unique to him and not family connections.

Michelle is the name I go by, but it’s also my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but not going by the first confuses large swaths of people. I feel it would less of a problem if I was male like F. Scott Fitzgerald or J. Edgar Hoover.

People take it very personally for something that’s not their business. I’ve had numerous arguments with complete strangers over not using my “real” name, a sentence guaranteed to piss me off.

Fun fact: your legal name is your full name. Most people are asking for the preferred name, and while that’s the first name for most, it doesn’t have to be.

I was named the way I was so I would have the same initials as my grandmother – she was Katie Marie, and I’m Kathleen Michelle.

My mother actually wanted Shelley and not Michelle, but my dad disagreed. “Michelle” was the compromise that was supposed to be an end run around his refusal – she’d call me by the diminutive, and get her way. At least that was the plan. She never got around to shortening it, and I’m pretty grateful.

I feel very much like a Michelle – we’re a sarcastic lot – and the one Chellé I met in my life, I disliked. Sometimes, things work out for the best.

Though if mom had got her way, I’d likely be writing this from the reverse perspective. Life’s strange that way.

My mother used to tell a story about how she wanted to name my youngest brother “Robert Steven Vincent Pahl,” so that his initials would be “RSVP.”

Daily writing prompt

Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.

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