Name calling is the world's oldest pastime. We are compelled to label things. Humans even have people whose career and chosen profession is telling others what they are. I have noticed that certain of the monikers they have fashioned have come and gone the way of the 'toe sock' and 'rainbow suspenders'. The most tragic of these extinctions is the loss of certain once familiar and comforting names for people. We are entering a drought of namesakes, and the repercussions are yet to be truly realised.
When I was growing up, I lived in a predominantly 'white' neighbourhood. It was peopled with Irish, Scottish, Italian, Anglican, Catholic, and 'Canadian' folk. I was known as the 'brown kid', my origins muddied by time and a people who travelled. Some might say I am descended from 'Gypsies'. I would like to think they were pirates and explorers. I was told I was better at sports because of my higher levels of melanin. Teachers warned me I would probably be above average, (my people usually are), but that I would never be as good as the Asians when it came to math and science. Their experiences gave them the self-assured notion they could predict my future as accurately as a pendulum held over a pregnant woman's belly.
I lived with that nomenclature for a while and learnt several important facts.
1- I suck at sports
2- There are Asians in the world who hate science and can't add
3- Those people were 'assholes'
Of the the tags they fasten to our feats as we live our lives, most cease to apply after a while. There was a time in all our lives when the only handle that could hold us all was that we were, 'pooping, puking, gurgling, fussy, bundles of joy'. Most of us are now merely bundles of joy and only passingly resemble the other sobriquets on long weekends and holiday celebrations. As with all signage, they are only as good as the landmarks they represent. Oakville must have trees. Iceland must have snow. England must have 'eng'.
It is today I cast a flare to the heavens and hope you heed my warning. Certain names are becoming scarce. I looked about for a Hilda and found none. The world was bereft of 'Iris's and 'Clara's. I had an 'uncle' Adolphe I was very fond of. Is there an entire generation who will never know a Dolph other than Lundgren? Irving and Stanley are now becoming lost ideas. Mabel and Bertha are echoes of a culture that may already not exist.
I am a Robin. A wanderer who is safe and predictable. I am fierce and loyal. I avoid commitment in favour of warmer climes. I am not a Bob nor am I a Robbie. My friends remind me of this constantly. Names help us define ourselves. We lean against them and prop them up. They inspire us and mock us. They help us decode our dreams and write our destinies. There are those who consider them a brand, seared into our souls. Be they epithets or epitaphs, what fate awaits us Tiffany, Dakota?
DaBuoy
