I hate my name. I have never felt that it suited me or should belong to me. I blame my parents of course. They are the ones that did this to me. You see, they could not agree on a name for me when I was born. My dad wanted Julia, my mom wanted Julieanne. As a compromise, they named me one, and called me the other. Until I was 5, I thought my name was Julieanne. I liked that name. I liked the way my Southern grandmother pronounced it as two separate words, Julie Anne, so that both the first and third syllable in the name was stressed.
When I went to kindergarten, I was called and became known as Julia, which was news to me at first. The teacher, Mrs. Nelson, would pronounce it with two syllables "Jool-ya". The other kids stretched it into three calling me "Jool-ee-ya". Oh how I hated the way it sounded! It sounded ugly and boring and just wrong. I did not like it. It did not sound right at all.
The nuns in grade school certainly did not abide by family nicknames, but by high school, I managed to be known mostly as Julie to my close friends. Now professionally, my name has reverted back to Julia, much to my dismay. When I invite people to call me Julie instead, they say how they have seen my name as Julia and question which is correct. Some have even gone so far as to tell me that they like Julia better, and continue to call me that. My own husband, who knows how I feel about my name, for some reason, when speaking of me, calls me "Jool-ya". I suppose he prefers that as well.
To me, the name Julieanne is who I am. It is the name I was first called by my family. It reminds me of home and being loved. Being called "Mom", makes me feel the same way. That is reserved for two very special people in my life. Maybe it's okay that no one calls me Julieanne anymore. Maybe that exclusivity makes it special and private, and something reserved for the people who know me and love me in spite of it.
