justwrite 18 november

Ever since the age of five, Adrienne Patterson had been trying to change her name. Her first efforts included refusing to write her allegedly more appropriate “official” name on worksheets, drawings, and other creations. She preferred, at that point, to sign her name—a combination of careful printing and a few extraneous loops cleverly designed to mimic cursive—as Josephine Golden. This, clearly, was her right, correct, true name. Her teacher—somewhat misplaced within the school system, it might be said—insisted that this “fantasy” name be erased and replaced every time. Additionally, young Miss Patterson was made to write the odious sentence “My name is Adrienne Patterson.” dozens of times to drive the point home. Her friends tried to play along, most often calling her Josie, as Josephine doesn’t really trip off the tongue of most kindergarteners. She insisted on the full name, though: Josephine Golden. After a while, only her closest friends continued to oblige her. Still, the harsh campaigning of Mrs. Scarmeas expanded to the punishment of Josephine Golden’s friends, at which point she decided to nobly defend and protect them but taking her identity underground and printing the odious false name on school-related work. This basically meant that Josephine Golden existed while playing alone with her dolls or when practicing writing at her desk at home.

Mrs. and Mr. Patterson, it may be said, were puzzled by their daughter’s decision to adopt a new name, rather than the if-they-may-say-so-themselves very beautiful name that they themselves had bestowed on her not too long ago. Still, they loved their daughter, and occasionally indulged her fantasy, while still trying to curry favor for the name Adrienne Patterson. It even rhymed, for goodness’ sake!

A few years later, Mrs. Patterson gave birth to a baby boy, who received the name Samuel. Sam Patterson. Adrienne was struck anew with how horribly unbefitting her name was, especially in comparison with such a reasonable appellation as Sam Patterson. It was truly absurd. In retaliation, she abruptly—and, completely, coincidentally, at the same time as his christening— adopted the name April. She graciously kept her given surname intact, both to show her parents that she meant them no disrespect and also so that her teachers would be sure to know which turned-in work she had done. Although she was still only in elementary school, grades were starting to matter to young April Patterson.

April lasted off and on until fifth grade, when a certain April Riley moved in down the street. Miss Patterson hated her immediately, not only for her exquisite first and last names, but also for her cherry red ten-speed bike with the rainbow beads on the wheel spokes. A scant few weeks after Miss Riley’s arrival, however, Miss Patterson could be seen taking turns on this glorious vehicle, and could be heard calling herself Adrienne, albeit reluctantly.

The pressure to fit in hit hard in middle school, and Adrienne decided that this was not the best time to try to stand out for any reason. She had no desire to be referred to as “Who? That girl with two names or whatever?” When her family moved at the end of her seventh grade year, though, she found herself in a new school with a new opportunity to reinvent herself.

When her new homeroom teacher read the attendance list and called off “Adrienne Patterson?” in a suitably questioning tone, she was prepared to answer, “Here! But I go by Emma.” He shrugged, made a note. A few repetitions of this routine, and all of her teachers knew her preference. Not all of them proceeded to call her Emma, of course, but a few did. To the other kids, all full up with the pride of having made it to the top of the middle school pile and not yet worried about starting the whole process again as freshmen the following year, she said, “My friends called me Emma.” This was clearly a perfect set-up for someone to respond, “Well, I’m not your friend, so I’m calling you Adrienne, if I ever even talk to you again anyway.” Luckily for her new-girl-in-a-small-town ego, she didn’t get too many of these responses. Throughout the following months, her parents were surprised to find the few adolescent girls wandering into their home or calling on the phone referring to their daughter as Emma. What to do? They wondered. Where’s the harm? They reassured themselves.