A Grant by any other name ...
Blunt, bland, boring: I hate my moniker.
I READILY accept responsibility for most of my shortcomings, but in the case of my crappy Christian name, I must lay the blame at the feet of my parents.
After all, this name was attached to me when I was far too young to put up a fight, just a few days after my birth.
There I was, lying naked on a cot blanket in the Wanganui Maternity Annex – tiny, pink, plump as a huhu grub, cute as any amount of buttons. Above me stood my parents, hearts bursting with love. They gazed down upon their first-born son, and thought look at this good thing we have made! What shall we call him? Peter? John? Graeme? Gazza?
No. He looks like a Grant. And so I have worn that name ever since, but even after five decades I’m still mildly surprised whenever anyone says it to me, because it feels as though they’re addressing a stranger.
Of all the possible names, why Grant? Blunt, bland, flavourless in your mouth, it feels like a name that should be attached to a high school metalwork teacher in the American Midwest, but for some reason went through a period of being briefly fashionable in New Zealand during the early 1960s.
Originally derived from Norman French, Grant means ‘‘great’’ or ‘‘tall’’, and, realistically, I am neither. It is, according to US Social Security records, currently the 168th most popular name in America. Why? I couldn’t tell you.
I feel so disconnected from my given name that I’ve considered changing it, but to what? Also, as one friend pointed out, I’ve done radio shows and DJ gigs and written books and articles under my given name for so many years now, it has what marketing people would call ‘‘strong brand recognition’’.
Even so, no-one I know well calls me Grant, though I’ve never asked them not to. I assume they somehow sense its innate wrongness, so most people simply cut to the chase and call me ‘‘Smithies’’, though assorted friends and relatives have their own peculiar variants, including ‘‘Smiss’’, ‘‘Smitty’’ and ‘‘Smithereens’’.
A former workmate, despite threats of retaliatory violence, insisted on calling me ‘‘Grunter’’. My mum calls me ‘‘Dear’’; male mates opt for ‘‘Bro’’. When she’s not calling me ‘‘Dad’’, I’ve trained my daughter Rosa to address me as ‘‘King of the Universe and World’’, though she’s getting a little old for that now, so I may need to abdicate soon.
What’s in a name? A great deal, as it happens. Baby-naming is a funny old business, deeply affected by fashion, class, ethnicity, location and pop culture preferences.
Numerous websites offer
My name should be attached to a high school metalwork teacher in the American Midwest.
annual ‘‘hottest naming trends’’ lists based on birth certificate records, so I can confirm that in the States last year, the most popular names were Sophia, Emma and Olivia for girls and Jackson, Aiden and Liam for boys. There was also an alarming spike in place-name babies (Geneva, Aspen, Verona, London, Bronx) and TV-inspired names (Garrett, Claire, Frank and Remy from House Of Cards; Avery and Gunnar from Nashville; Skyler and Walt from Breaking Bad.)
Across the Atlantic, a UK website notes that Game Of Thrones names such as Bran, Sandor, Tyrion and Khaleesi are now applied to more defenceless British nippers than old-school handles like Peggy and Malcolm, though no-one seems in any hurry to name their baby Joffrey.
Here in New Zealand, I’ve met fellow citizens named Jungle, Harmony, Lotus and Zantedeschia. What were their parents thinking? Who knows? As with bands trading under manky monikers such as Hootie and The Blowfish or Smashing Pumpkins, it probably seemed like a good idea at the time.
Of course, some of the more woeful Christian names people have been given make my own seem appealing by comparison. So, for our mutual entertainment, I encourage readers to write in about the names that have been their own crosses to bear.
I want to hear from unfortunate souls lumbered with antiquated posh names such as Tarquin and Cuthbert, patchouli-scented hippie names like Lake and Sky, peculiar one-offs like Shaniqua or Finity that were applied by ‘‘creative’’ parents in the hope of conferring a shining uniqueness upon the bearer.
I’m keen to hear from readers saddled, through no fault of their own, with names they dislike. How has this affected you? Did you ever consider changing it via Deed Poll? Have you adopted a nickname to avoid having to use it? I’m all ears. Email me at grant.smithies@fairfaxmedia. co.nz and I will report back in a future column.