I have a character, in the Young Adult Fantasy Novel that I am writing, which I have to find the perfect name for. He is kind of a wimpy (but in an honest way) kid who has seen hard times. He is mainly just uncoordinated and scared of life.
Every once in a while I do a search for names and today I came across Name Nerds! features. This is a list of names that people have found to be, well, just plain wrong. I have not gone to it but there is apparently a list of favorite names on the site too and the site is quick to say that it is all just a personal taste issue, so do not be offended.
I am Sheryl. My mother, and thus assorted relatives call me Sherry. Since I was a teen, I have hated Sherry. I think it may have something to do with boys singing out, “Sherrr err Sherr err err ey, Ba-aa-by.” to me in the hallway at school. Yes, I was a teen when that song came out.
I can thank my father, however, for saving me from being “Dixie,” as he refused to name his new daughter after a major Highway. I have a dear friend named Dixie and that would be very strange. We could do a duet, ‘Dixie and Dixie sing at the Roxie.’
Now, I dislike the name Sherry, for me, because it does not seem like a name for a woman; gosh, how do I put this? Frankly, I think I am still in my prime. So, I’ll be darn if I say, “A woman past her prime.” I also refuse to be an “older woman.” I am the new forty??
I had a friend, from Pennsylvania, who just could not pronounce Sheryl. It always came out, “Sherrrrr, ol.” Then, there is the matter of a dozen spellings. But, I still like my name: Sheryl Adair VanVleck. Everytime I have to spell that last name, I wonder why I like it. It’s just who I am.
In school there was one other Sheryl, and I think she used the “C” spelling: Cheryl. Now, in Brown County, the art center of Indiana, I have met more Cheryl’s, Cherry’s, Sheryl’s and Sherry’s, than I have met in the whole rest of my life. Perhaps it is an artistic name? You know, a name that causes you to be an artist.
There is a theory that what you name a child will affect who they become. On the list, I found today, is Caleb, as a wimpy name. (My DISCLAIMER: I will discuss grandchildren here, who I dearly love, no matter what their parents saddled them with.) The child, who is the biggest wimp I have ever known, is named Caleb.
As a five year old boy, we were all out camping and he was just standing in front of us and started to scream and scream and scream. He was backing away from us with terror on his face from one of nature’s horrors. Even his mother was laughing hysterically when Caleb landed sitting in an open ice chest. But, then, that fly that was on his chest was pretty scary.
By the time “Micah” came along, we were used to son-in-law’s strange name choices, but Micah is a mineral, not a child.
There was also the birth of this beautiful, delicate baby girl and the father who insisted on naming her “Sariah.” Immediately, my mother said, “Why would you want to name a child after a skin disease?”
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