In Which Names Have Power

A careful reader (and goodness knows I have careful readers—all twelve of you are extremely exacting) will have noticed that as of Monday, June 14th, I have changed the design of this blog.  I was never really satisfied with the first layout and I mostly went with it as a matter of convenience.  But suddenly Blogger added a whole new set of interesting templates, so I spent some time scoping them out.  What really appealed to me about this one is the prominence of the background image, and I chose for my background image a dandelion having its seeds scattered to the four corners of the Earth.  

Dandelions have a special appeal for me.  My family, particularly my father, has at times referred to me as Dandelion, since it begins with the same first syllable as my given name.  My dad likes to pronounce it with a French flair when he calls me Dandelion, so that it comes out as "Dan de Lyons."  

I used to hate pet names.  They can seem condescending, and they often are.  Pet names can be used to reduce or belittle; this is why I have always rejected the nickname Danny—because it feels infantilizing.  But pet names can also be a real expression of sweetness and affection, and the special place that someone occupies in your heart. 

Rosie is easy to make pet names for, since she will never be bothered by them.  When I first got her, I experimented with many different options.  I called her Rose, Rosalee, Rosalind (which I decided is her true name), Sweet Pea, Sweetie, Peanut (because sometimes she made the shape of a peanut from overhead), &c.  My parents also tested (and still use) several pet names for her, including Roses (pronounced like Moses), Rose of Trelawney, Rosicrucian, &c.  It is because these names are being given to a pet, who by necessity already has a pet name, and who could never take offense to any thing spoken about her or on her, that these nicknames are given so wildly and freely. 

When used for a child (or any other human, for that matter), these names gain new meaning.  Most people do not want to be considered a pet—as I said earlier, it's infantilizing, belittling, and controlling.  And exerting control over your own name is an important step in defining yourself as separate from your parents.  Your parents give you your name, and it is an explicit act of defiance to wrest ownership of your name (and yourself) away from the dominating hands of your parents.  My sister and I struggle to this day to get our parents to refer to us by our chosen nicknames as opposed to our full given names (i.e. "call me Dan, not Daniel!")  I mean, "struggle" is probably the wrong verb—for my own part, I haven't tried to fight this for years.  My parents clearly take great joy in specifically calling me Daniel and not Dan, and asking them to change anything at this point is like fighting the tide by kicking at the waves. 

But back to the dandelion.  I like when my dad calls me Dan de Lion.  I love it, in fact.  This is the complexity of the pet name.  Like most things, pet names are never so simple as black and white, and while they can be controlling and belittling, they are also magical expressions of affection and closeness. You does not create a pet name for someone you don't love—in fact, the ultimate assertion of emotional distance is to refer to someone exclusively by their last name, as if making them a generic representation of their tribe ("Mister of the family Friedman.")  I wouldn't call my dad Pops if I didn't love him, and he wouldn't call me Dandy or Dandelion or Dan de Lion if he didn't love me as well.  It seems that in order to gain some love and affection, you have to be willing to give up some control.  This is an uncomfortable trade off for me (in both directions), but it is one I am learning to accept. 

P.S. One final word about the dandelion that serves as this blog's background: besides being related to my name, dandelions have another connection to my (and I assume other's) childhood.  When I was little, I was told that if you make a wish and huff and puff on a dandelion and completely blow away all of its seeds, then the wish will come true.  I like to think of dandelion seeds as wishes being scattered to the winds, and that is sometimes how I feel about these blog posts.