Name Strange

I was born Hydrangus, which under normal circumstances would have been a wonderful name to carry with both pride and distinction. Unfortunately, it was a time of heightened floral bliss – the so-called Tulip Mania of 1637. I never got to experience the marvelous crash, instead suffering through the speculative rise in silence and tears. Schoolyard taunts of “Hey Hydrangea Boy” and “what, your parents couldn’t afford tulips” were a daily occurrence. While I spoke very few words of Dutch, the nation’s unified disdain towards me was easy to interpret. To be associated with any other flower at a time when one bulb garnered so much attention and cash was pure torture. My parents couldn’t have known. They came from the old world, superannuated and set in their naming conventions.

As a family, we did the most sensible thing and moved. However, things weren’t much better across the sea. Finally settling in Cincinnati, then known as Porkopolis, I decided to solider on with my given name. Though there no flowering blooms and blossoming florets on the playground to distract bullies, they took it upon themselves to emphasize the second half of my name. The “angus” part. In an unapologetic Pig Town, this was a nightmare scenario. To be even tangentially associated with beef was a traitorous prospect, a burden no child should have to endure. 

I was then sent to a semi-religious boarding school somewhere far from the rendering plants of Ohio. There I became known as Chai-drangus, not for the beverage, but for the Hebrew word. Others may have taken this alteration as a compliment, but I did no such thing. I chose to feel the pain it caused and internalize the cruelty of my fellow classmates. I was so heartbroken and distraught over it that I flunked out of high school, remaining in a sort of academic limbo for the next 150 years.

I changed my name to Oliver right as the fever for extra virgin olive oil reached its peak and the cartoon Popeye had found its nadir thanks to Robin Williams. You have to be careful during the naming process. You never know how the culture will shift and ruin a perfectly good name - or make one suddenly appealing. 

Vaccina, anyone? It rolls right off the arm.