Moniker It

I name persons, places and things – special names – and they don’t even know it. Nomen est omen, so my motto is “moniker it,” give it a significance in our world. Shakespeare didn’t get it; writing that a name does not matter, the smell is the same. We use names to distinguish one thing from another as we learn our language. A rose to English speakers indicates a sweet aroma; it appeals to our senses. The names of people do not necessarily appeal to our senses but if we gave them a new name that did, the world would smell different. By naming things myself, I do not have the problem of forgetting someone’s name; I can just call them “Sweetie” and go from there.

Of course names have been important throughout history demonstrating our need to be able to identify one thing from another and talk with people about other persons, places and things. This concept is clearly obvious in the Bible as explained by John Kramer Blythe who wrote that once you name something, you begin to understand it and lose any fear of it. That was why God told Adam to name all the animals; He wanted man to have no fear, but to be brave. More importantly God gave himself a name. When God called Moses to go to Egypt and free the Hebrew people, Moses asked God to tell him his name because the Hebrews would want to know who sent him. God’s reply was, “I am who I am.” Since the One God had previously been know by various names, the significance of saying “I am” is an expression of his nature, one that is and has always been and will be forevermore.

In our western culture, we name our children because of our family heritage or a name that is popular in today’s society. Names may have some sentimental value but often appear as some comical representation the parents conjured up out of the blue, with names ranging from North (West), Reality (Winter), to Sage Moonblood (Stallone). It has become typical for parents to make up names by combining their own names; for example, Shondra and Jerry may name their child Shonjer or Ronald and Dorothy might name a child Rondeau, giving it an exotic spelling that defies ethnic origin. If all else fails with naming a child, put De’ or Da’ in front of it, thereby making it unique. One has only to read the school news or high school graduation list in the local paper; every Tom, Dick or Harry is now De’arius, Da’Vonte, or Deondre.

I use names that tell me what characteristic an object possesses and what it means to me. I name trees in my yard, hopefully giving them significance so I will remember to water them. In essence, I’m telling Bear Bryant and Nick Saban, I own you and I will take care of you — have some water. I name cars, creepy crawlers, and strange noises in the house. The areas in my yard are known as the Fairy Garden, the Gnome Home, Coco’s Cove, and Pirates Alley. In the morning I sit on the Front Porch, afternoons are spent in the Party Barn with wine, and evenings in Wicker World.

People are not spared these monikers either and I have named those that I see often as well as those I don’t know. Green Truck Dude arrives every Sunday morning to “weed eat” across the street. Neighbors are known a Dr. Blue Van, Four Heads, Bald Guy Who Drives Too Fast and No Bumper. The Cotton Tops and I still search for Blue Shirt-Khaki Pants Guy. I call obnoxious drivers on McFarland Boulevard various “unpleasantries,” especially when it is raining. Bad drivers often acknowledge their new names with impolite hand signals, which gives credence to W. C. Fields’ statement, “It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.”

Life is good in my little universe, you can feel it, see it, hear it, and touch each thing and know that it reveals its worth, its reputation, and its character. The name says it all. My vanity is goofy, an appropriate moniker in my wackadoodle world.