My Name is Pete, P-E-T-E
If I had a dollar for every time I have had to repeat, spell, or explain my name over the past 30-something years, I could quit my current job where I have to repeat, spell, or explain it constantly.
So, I am going to do this one time, and one time only. If you snooze, you lose, and you may want to save the snoozing for some of my lengthier epistles.
Yes, that adolescent female voice speed-whining in your ear is mine and my name really is Pete. No, it's not my given name; it's a nickname. It has been my name of choice since I was 18 years old. I am now 51 -- you do the math. I'll answer the usual questions.
What is your "real" name? Pete. Unless you are the cop who just pulled me into the parking lot of the Taco Bell and is staring at the legal name on my driver's license, I see no need to share that information. Besides, I have been called Pete for so long now that, unless you sound like one of my parents, I will probably not even realize you are speaking to me. So don't come whining to me that I ignored you if you call me anything other than Pete.
I am also a female. That's right, female -- as in not a guy. Yes, I know I don't sound/look/smell/dress like a Pete, but thank you for setting me straight. I mostly get those comments from guys, who follow them with big Huh-Huh-Huh guffaws to let me know they were making a joke. And no, my parents didn't want a boy (well, maybe they did, but that's another blog).
Women, on the other hand, tend to comment on the "cute" factor of my name and a surprising number of them go on to relate that she/her mother/her sister/her grandmother/her college roommate is/was also called Pete. We are a force to be reckoned with, we women named Pete. None of that inherent wussiness one finds in boys named Sue.
How did you get your name? This one makes my drawers crawl. I can tell from the expectant look on faces or the sound of anticipation in voices that a Really Funny Story is expected. So here's the true story (adjust your humor registers accordingly):
When I was a college freshman, I worked in the university's student dining hall. A certain comradery developed among those of us who drew this particular work/study assignment and the lively, usually bizarre, conversations we had while performing our mundane tasks made time pass more quickly.
On the day of my re-naming, the topic of the day was our respective religious upbringings. While we were putting away the contents of the salad bar, my friend, Anna, being of Sicilian Catholic descent, was regaling us of her First Communion and how she chose Saint Anne as her patron saint, leaving her with the name of Anna Anne. Her point was that children probably should not be allowed to chose their own names at the age of 7 or 8 unless they can define "redundant."
Having survived a Southern Baptist upbringing myself, I thought her problem was moot. How wonderful to be allowed to choose one of your own names! I then threw a pout that my own childhood had not allowed me the same privilege. Whereupon (and any of you familiar with my current circumference must remember that I have not always been mistaken for a planet), some of the guys lifted me into the remaining ice of the salad bar and held me there (in some bizarre position of baptism) until I chose a saint's name for myself.
Now, Baptists aren 't real big into saints and that ice was wet AND cold. So I came up with the only saint I could think of at the time - Peter. And, lo, it came to pass that from that day forward, I wore the saintly moniker of the Big Bad Rollcaller himself. Of course, as you can see, it quickly slipped into the diminutive form of Pete or Petie -- but only after a most unfortunate period of time as Pete the Fart. (Don't ask, don't smell.) And I remain Pete to this day for friends, co-workers, and immediate family. How many kids can say they have a Granny Pete?
I warned you. Not much to it, was there? But at least it's out of the way and we can move on to the things I really want to talk about, whatever they turn out to be. How often will I post? As often as I am moved to do so and can get my thoughts written down before they pass from my consciousness like so many brain...farts. I hope you'll add me to your favorites, stop by often, and leave your comments behind so I'll have something to read, too. Just don't expect me to respond to each of them and, whatever you do, don't ask me about my name.
So, I am going to do this one time, and one time only. If you snooze, you lose, and you may want to save the snoozing for some of my lengthier epistles.
Yes, that adolescent female voice speed-whining in your ear is mine and my name really is Pete. No, it's not my given name; it's a nickname. It has been my name of choice since I was 18 years old. I am now 51 -- you do the math. I'll answer the usual questions.
What is your "real" name? Pete. Unless you are the cop who just pulled me into the parking lot of the Taco Bell and is staring at the legal name on my driver's license, I see no need to share that information. Besides, I have been called Pete for so long now that, unless you sound like one of my parents, I will probably not even realize you are speaking to me. So don't come whining to me that I ignored you if you call me anything other than Pete.
I am also a female. That's right, female -- as in not a guy. Yes, I know I don't sound/look/smell/dress like a Pete, but thank you for setting me straight. I mostly get those comments from guys, who follow them with big Huh-Huh-Huh guffaws to let me know they were making a joke. And no, my parents didn't want a boy (well, maybe they did, but that's another blog).
Women, on the other hand, tend to comment on the "cute" factor of my name and a surprising number of them go on to relate that she/her mother/her sister/her grandmother/her college roommate is/was also called Pete. We are a force to be reckoned with, we women named Pete. None of that inherent wussiness one finds in boys named Sue.
How did you get your name? This one makes my drawers crawl. I can tell from the expectant look on faces or the sound of anticipation in voices that a Really Funny Story is expected. So here's the true story (adjust your humor registers accordingly):
When I was a college freshman, I worked in the university's student dining hall. A certain comradery developed among those of us who drew this particular work/study assignment and the lively, usually bizarre, conversations we had while performing our mundane tasks made time pass more quickly.
On the day of my re-naming, the topic of the day was our respective religious upbringings. While we were putting away the contents of the salad bar, my friend, Anna, being of Sicilian Catholic descent, was regaling us of her First Communion and how she chose Saint Anne as her patron saint, leaving her with the name of Anna Anne. Her point was that children probably should not be allowed to chose their own names at the age of 7 or 8 unless they can define "redundant."
Having survived a Southern Baptist upbringing myself, I thought her problem was moot. How wonderful to be allowed to choose one of your own names! I then threw a pout that my own childhood had not allowed me the same privilege. Whereupon (and any of you familiar with my current circumference must remember that I have not always been mistaken for a planet), some of the guys lifted me into the remaining ice of the salad bar and held me there (in some bizarre position of baptism) until I chose a saint's name for myself.
Now, Baptists aren 't real big into saints and that ice was wet AND cold. So I came up with the only saint I could think of at the time - Peter. And, lo, it came to pass that from that day forward, I wore the saintly moniker of the Big Bad Rollcaller himself. Of course, as you can see, it quickly slipped into the diminutive form of Pete or Petie -- but only after a most unfortunate period of time as Pete the Fart. (Don't ask, don't smell.) And I remain Pete to this day for friends, co-workers, and immediate family. How many kids can say they have a Granny Pete?
I warned you. Not much to it, was there? But at least it's out of the way and we can move on to the things I really want to talk about, whatever they turn out to be. How often will I post? As often as I am moved to do so and can get my thoughts written down before they pass from my consciousness like so many brain...farts. I hope you'll add me to your favorites, stop by often, and leave your comments behind so I'll have something to read, too. Just don't expect me to respond to each of them and, whatever you do, don't ask me about my name.
posted by Pete | 6:18 PM
1 Comments:
I know you will be looking for this...let me be the first!
Pete is a fun-loving, semi-idiosyncratic, and oh-so-talented and creative good soul who nurtures her friends and makes them laugh! And she tells it how she sees it....and in her writing, is able to capture realities that immediately ring a bell with those who read her "stuff."
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