Coined

I get a kick out of the names some of my students, ex-students and others have at school nowadays.  I'm totally old-manning myself, but names like Richard, Ted or Jennifer are pretty much extinct.  Perhaps I am "white-boying" myself as well, considering many of the names in question derive from African-American households.  The Hispanic population as I know it have yet to live up to this worldly expectation, as the little brown kids I see have names like I remember.  Still, there is something to be said at names like the ones below:

Pure Animosity White (yes, that's a name)

Any deviation of alcohol for your kids's name, like Chardonnay or Margarita.

Hippie names.  Why would you name your daughter Freedom?  You know why?  Cause every boy will be saluting her behind the high school.

Countries and continent names.  Somewhere a boy named Instanbul will meet a girl named Antartica.

What about Lemanjello and Oranjello?  Lemon jello and orange jello.  I kid you not!

Lately, my church has been on a new study titled, "Hello, My name is" based on this website and book.  It's opened my eyes to how much words matter, and the name we give our kids, the names we earn and unearn, and what name God calls us to be.

In Spanish, the word "rey" means King, so I always figured my name meant "Kingly."  Looking it up, I came to find out it means "Wise Ruler."  Growing up, I hated it.  No teacher pronounced it correctly and I always felt it made me sound ethnic.  Ethnic is not something I valued as a kid growing up.  You could be white, it was okay to be black, but to be some unpronounceable kid in the back of the room was a no-no.  Once, after too many humiliating first days of school, my YMCA baseball coach goes around the circle so we could introduce ourselves.  In one of my first attempts at rebellion, I answered, "Ray."  He walks me over after practice and compliments me on my attitude or something to my mom, using my new name.  My mom was like, "Who is Ray?"

I had other names growing up.  I was and am still called Ronnie at home.  My grandfather coined the name before I was even born.  Ronnie was only spoken at home, and after my announcement to be called Ray, Ronnie met a certain death.  I stormed around the house making sure no one called me Reynaldo or Ronnie. 

My son would be so proud his daddy threw tantrums just like he does!

I had other names growing up.  Most of them were variations of Big Man or other large-inspired monikers.  People give one another nicknames all the time, sometimes positive or negative.  Most of the time, even our best friends would frequently call each other choice curse words.  Funny,  how we used such vulgar names as ways of showing our manly affection.  I even had a friend, Jake Hall, who would call me "Spick" while I yelled back some vulgar or crass nickname of my own.  Some names didn't always go over too well.  Because of my great Roman-on-steroids nose, I was called "Alf" in high school and even "Hook Nose" by my stepfather.  I used to contemplate plastic surgery like I was some Jewish princess with a recording career.  I gave myself some names too.  Fat.  Loser.  Failure.  Worthless.  These are our Given Names.  

Reynaldo was reborn after my move to Ohio.  Everyone loved the name up here, tried hard to pronounce it, asked me its origin.  Suddenly, my name mattered.  I found out that my Dad named me after a friend he served in the military with.  A man I'd never know.  I found out "rey" meant king and I have to remind myself that I'm only a king in my own mind.  My wife, somewhere, is rolling her eyes.

Now, I'm called "Mr. Cordova" and "Daddy."  I like those given names much better.  I give them nicknames back, normally by making puns with their names.  Once, during Sunday School, I actually forgot to give a nickname to one of my girls.  She was heartbroken.  Names matter.  And sometimes the ones we don't even  give matter too.

In accordance to the book I am reading, "Wild at Heart," I also am remembered that many names from the Bible had meanings.  Sometimes Jesus or God renamed them as well.  Saul to Paul, Sari to Sarah.  Rahab had a name too, meaning "vast."  Somewhere along the line of her life, she became a prostitute--her given name.  But in the book of Joshua, she was spared because of her treatment of the spies who stayed at her house.  She them became "Righteous"--her secret name given by God.  

Names matter.  My son Cruz was named with care.  Cruz Jesus.  The last name of Benito Cruz, my grandfather-in-training so to speak, that I grew up with, and Jesus, my grandfather's name.  Cruz also means "cross bearer."  I'm proud to have his named called.  Reycina is a blended name of mine and my wife.  But her middle name, "Milagra" means miracle.  She truly is.