Rough+Draft-+History+of+My+Name

 It’s always interesting to hear a story behind a name. Some are hilarious, some are heart-warming, and some are just plain stupid. Mine doesn’t really fall into any of those categories. The story of my name is simply plain and boring. My mom did not sit down and think, “ My! I have to name this precious little thing inside of me. I do wonder what I shall call her. Perhaps something special, like the name of my favorite grand-mother. Or maybe even the name I named all of my barbies when I was a little girl. No, I think picking a name out of a baby book, that has absolutely no sentimental value or purpose would be the best decision.” That’s pretty much what happened, trust me, I was there. If you didn’t already know, my first name is Sydney. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fine name. I know a numerous amount of pretty cool people named Sydney. I just don’t like it on me. It doesn’t fit. You know how you have that one pair of shoes (warm, fuzzy boots or worn in sneakers?) that just fit. Well, Sydney is the stiletto of the name world, for me at least. Honestly, the only reason I was named Sydney is because my Nana liked it, and obviously my mom agreed. I wonder how that conversation went. Probably something like this:  Mom: “ So Mom, I was thinking, instead of naming my daughter something important, I figured we could sit down for a few minutes in front of a book of names created for parents who do not want to think about the future generation’s name for more than the few seconds it takes to find one!”

 Nana: “Oh April, that’s a lovely idea! Here, let me open to a random page, and the first name my finger falls on will be my precious little grand-daughter’s name. Ready? (A short period of time, in which a book was opened and a finger pressed lightly to a page labeled “S”) Sydney! That’s it.”

 Mom: “Oh good, it’s a boy AND a girl name wrapped in one, just in case she’s actually a he!”

And I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. Trust me, again, I was there.

 Now, my middle name is a bit more important than my first name. Why Rachel is my middle and not my first name is a confusing topic to me. If you have to look in a baby book to name your child, but know EXACTLY what name you want his/her middle name to be, why even bother with the book? This, I may never be sure of. Unless of course my mother, while giving birth, was in a fight with Rachel (her childhood best friend, who obviously is the reason for my middle name) and pressed with the question of what middle name would be given to her daughter, a picture of Rachel popped into her head randomly and she painfully yelled out, “RACHEL!”, and then a nearby nurse wrote it down, in hopes of saving a woman in labor the time. No matter the reason, I ended up with the middle name Rachel. Which I do not at all mind.  When I was born, my father was not really a part of the picture. So, giving me his last name did not make all that much sense. My mom’s maiden name is Willis and this is the last name I was given. I wish a little, that sometimes I still had that last name. It almost gives me some sort of culture. It actually has a pretty cool background, to me at least. The name Willis is a name descended from my great, great grandparents, Angelo and Angelina. The Angie’s came to the United States from Sicily, Italy when they were married, and therefore continued to further the family tree, until eventually Willis reached me. To think that I’m (still sort-of) a Willis, is really cool. I had the same last name as my family members from ITALY did so many years ago. I don’t know, maybe it is just me, but it is a pretty cool feeling. This was the first last name I had.  After a few years of Sydney Rachel Willis, my Daddio stepped back into my mother and I’s life. Apparently things went smoothly, because soon enough, there was a wedding. It probably seemed odd for two people with the same last name to have a daughter with a different last name, so Sydney Rachel Willis became Sydney Rachel Carlson. Carlson is not that wonderful of a last name, sorry Dan, but it’s true. I did I bit of research (yes, I cheated) and I found out that Carlson is Norwegian. It has a pretty guessable meaning too. “Son of Carl”. Well you know what that means! I had a great great (great great great?) Grandpa (uncle, cousin?) Carl!  Remember when I said that things went smoothly when Dan came back? Well, I lied. My parents were divorced after a few years. So now, I was a Sydney Rachel Carlson without a father to match my name. My mom had a couple of boyfriends, but none were “the one”. Eventually my mom met Gary, and things went smoothly (trust me, I was there) because soon there was another wedding. Well, Sydney Rachel (Place last name here) wasn’t there, because they went to Vegas, but I was at the reception. After a few months, my mom sat me down and asked me if I wanted to change my last name so that I had the same last name as the rest of my family. I agreed. So, we went to the courthouse and the judge asked me a few questions and I answered honestly. I walked out of the courthouse as Sydney Rachel Armstrong. Armstrong is another one of those names that isn’t all that interesting. It’s Scottish and means “Strong Arm”... go figure.  It’s always interesting to hear the story of how some people got their names. Some stories are funny, some bring tears to the eyes, and some are just ridiculous. My name, Sydney Rachel Willis Carlson Armstrong, is not all that great of a tale. I’m just a baby book picked, best friend named, Italian, Norwegian, Scottish named girl. In a way, I guess it’s convenient for the chance that someone, preparing themselves for a wondrous story, asks the story of my name. That way, I can smile at them and tell them that they don’t want to hear it, it’s pretty boring. They’ll try to convince me that they won’t think so and that they’re sure it’s wonderful. I’ll put a hand on their shoulder and say, “Trust me. I was there.”