Poem – My Name

Hi. My name is Heather.

Heather…

You know, even the sound of my own name coming out of my mouth seems foreign.

I hardly ever hear anyone use my name.

I am usually called Mom or Mother

Honey or Babe

Mrs. Gonzalez or Ms. G

But…Heather?

No, after so many years of my name being forgotten or hardly used…

I feel like it isn’t even me.

Like I open my mouth to introduce myself and when I hear myself say my name, it is as if I am talking about someone else.

Heather? No, that’s not me.

Heather is a mean girl from the 80s.

Heather is a bleached blond with a perfect body from the 90s.

But, I wasn’t named for the societal stereotypes from TV and movies.

My parents named me after the hills of Scotland that are covered in wild purple Heather flowers.

If it had been up to my older brother, I would have been named Bingo.

He was 3 at the time, and it was the only name he could spell.

There weren’t any children’s songs about the purple flowers in Scotland that all children needed to know how to spell.

When I was a child, I proclaimed that I wanted a new name like Crystal or Amy.

But, most parents don’t rush out and legally change their child’s name because they don’t like it.

Now, don’t get me wrong

I have nothing against my name.

It is beautiful even if it can literally be broken down into Heat – her.

But as I approach my 40s, I wonder when I will become used to being called Heather again.

Most likely, I will add new titles like Grandma and Mother in Law.

But at what point will I be able to say my name proudly as if I had a say in what I would be named?

Or will I never truly embrace it again?

If that is the case than I may need a bigger head stone when I pass on.

One that will declare all of the names I proudly answered to throughout my existence.

Either way, it wouldn’t change who I am.

No matter what I am called.

So, hi…my name is Heather.