This morning I got an early call from the concierge saying that a taxi was waiting to take me to the airport. I have no flight, no taxi scheduled but I was asked to come down to address the issue.
I’ve an ancient Celtic name that is difficult to spell and pronounce. Before my voice and words kicked in, the first day of school was always agony when the teacher said Duh, Duh, Duh…. and I raised my hand and asked her to call me Dee. My full first and middle and sometimes last name were only used in our home to summon me downstairs because either my sister or I was in trouble.
It turns out the car was for someone else with the same first name. And the concierge’s mother has the same name minus a letter. Never have I seen the confluence of so many Dee’s in one block.
In college I got an apartment with a few (turns out to be many) gals and I cooked for 12-14 per night. The first night the group of six legal residents assembled for my frugal but tasty creation and I asked to be seated on an end where I wouldn’t elbow a fellow roommate because I was leftie. They were all leftie!
I’ve worked with lefties, creative people, all my life. Never have I had such confusion over my first name because it is quite rare. A few weeks ago a new concierge called me about a package. It was certainly my name on it, first, not last. I left it with him to find the rightful owner.
Growing into the name took about 23 years, with a job and life of my own. I do hope that parents don’t start naming their kids after ancient Celtic personas because that first day of kindergarten is tough! Slainte, Dee