WHAT'S IN A NAME?

First, I was Dora Ann Carroll (since I was born on Christmas Day, I was a "Christmas Carroll" LOL!). After that, I was:

Jackie, Jack, Jackson, Stonewall, Blondie.
Jackie with the last name of Elaine and Red.
Jackie with the last name of Elaine and Carl.
Jackie with the last name of Neveal and Clarence.
Jackie with the last name of Elaine and Carl (again).
Jackie with the last name of Elaine and Red (again).
Jackie with her husband's last name.
Jackie with her EX-husband's last name.
Jacqui with the last name of Elaine and Red (again).
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WOW! All the people I've been! It's hard to think about, even, but I used to spend a LOT of time trying to remember who I was where and when and figuring out the relationship and social changes that each name represented.

I don't know what my name was when I started school, although I remember the name of the school (Jefferson Elementary in West Seattle). I also couldn't tell you what my name was when I graduated from high school, although, again, I remember the name of the school (West Seattle High).

My name changed back and forth almost yearly, depending on who was taking care of me and/or Elaine's current husband or live-in boyfriend. When I lived with Neveal and Clarence, Neveal told me I was now using their last name and to call them Mom and Dad because it would cause too much gossip, be embarrasing, and people would ask too many questions, otherwise. I wondered what was shameful or embarrassing about where and with whom I was living; I felt like somebody's bastard child. (I have now hit upon a probable reason why Neveal wanted me to have her name and call them Mom and Dad instead of Auntie and Uncle, but that's for a later chapter.)

When I was sent to live with Kathleen and Jack when I was in the eighth grade, I asked if I was supposed to use their last name and call them Mom and Dad (they were my Great Aunt and Uncle; Jack was Grandma's brother). The answer was, "Of course not!" I wondered why it was different from when I lived with Neveal and Clarence, and decided that Kathleen and Jack really didn't want me. Elaine and Carl had promised to pay them for taking care of me, so I was, more or less, just a job. Elaine and Carl weren't very regular with their payments and Kathleen was good enough to dip into her own pocketbook for my clothes and school supplies. She was gracious, however, and very kind; she never made me feel like a burden or that somehow the missed payments were my fault.

Because I already had major identity problems, all these changes of name added their weight. Not only did I not know for sure who I belonged to, I seemed to wear a tag written in pencil -- it could be erased and changed at whim.

In my senior year in high school I learned that "Jacqueline" is the French feminine form of Jacques, which is Jacob in Hebrew and means "Supplanter", one who takes the place of or replaces someone else. Learning that upset me terribly -- I wondered who I was taking the place of (much later in my life, I found out "who", but that's a different story and a different page). I already lacked identity and here my very name meant I was "sort of someone else, or taking the place of someone else." It was yet another hurdle in my journey to be ME.

Later I read that "Jackie is a girl with ribbons in her hair", and that was NOT my self-image at all. To my mind, it conjured up somebody fluffy and cute, and I believed myself to be neither fluffy nor cute, although I was always treated as though I was. I was developing a strong dislike for the name Jackie. Now that I am several years distant from that name and all its baggage, I see it as a very nice name, and "Jacqueline" is quite pretty. But if someone calls ME Jackie, it still gives me the creeps.

When I got older, in my twenties, I kept changing the spelling of Jacqueline and Jackie, and finally settled on Jacqui. If you don't like your name, it's hard to like yourself. Jacqui as opposed to Jackie gave me a truer sense of self; it seemed more exotic, more "grown-up".

During therapy, when I finally began to gain a sense of who I am, I decided to change my name again, but this time, it was going to be MY name. For a couple of years, I read name-your-baby books and noted women's name in books I read but found nothing that fit or felt right." Then one day in Safeway I found a name-your-baby booklet and within an hour after opening it, found my name.

The women in the family never had middle names and I wanted to be different, and the first name I chose was what is now my middle name: "Noel" for "Christmas" since that's my birthday.

Next, I found "Stoddard", which is an Anglo-Saxon name meaning a horse-keeper; since I have a special relationship with horses, that was just right. Noel somebody Stoddard certainly didn't seem right and Stoddard somebody Noel didn't sound right, either, so I started looking for a first name.

It seemed to jump off the page -- "Kendra", Anglo-Saxon (like Stoddard, nice consistency there), and it means "wise woman", both intelligent and worldly, with a dash of spiritual understanding thrown in, and I liked the nickname it would have, "Ken", a verb or noun meaning someone who understands and sees the truth.

So here I am, for everybody to know and see: Kendra Noel Stoddard: wise woman, born on Christmas, with a special love of horses. I think of it as sort of a "thumbnail biography." It also translates into a nice American Indian name: "Wisewoman Horsespeaker."

And it's my name. My own name.

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