SOMEWHERE IN NEVERLAND
A group of obnoxious guys in my freshman science class in high school somehow found out my middle name and coined “John F. Kennedy Anne Frank Amelia Earhart” as a new nickname for me. I’m not really sure what you call a name that people call you that’s longer than your actual name, but nonetheless it stuck. I’ve been called John F. Kennedy or JFK as a joke towards my first name for most of my life and I’ve always laughed it off, but I honestly hate it.
My name is something I have this weird sense of pride over. I think a lot of it stems from it being fairly uncommon, especially where I’m from. I was the first person to be named “Kennedy” in my hometown and for a certain amount of years I was the only one with that name in my town; if that doesn’t put how small my hometown is into perspective then I don’t know what does.
That’s changed a little bit now; there’s definitely others with the same name in my hometown but even now it’s still next to impossible to find my name on those cheap tourist keychains and street signs.
My name was also the only name that my parents had picked out for a girl and stems from my great-grandma’s maiden name. I thank God all the time that I didn’t end up being a boy like my parents were anticipating, I don’t think the name “Damon” would have suited me very well.
I guess there’s a lot of reasons why I have a weird sort of ego about my name and all of those tie directly into why I hate that nickname. And I guess in the future I need to learn to be more vocal about my hatred of it and learn to say, from the wise words of The Ting Tings, “that’s not my name.”
Editor’s Pick: “That’s Not My Name” by The Ting Tings