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Yes, that really is my name ...

June 3, 2008 - Summer Wallace-Minger
Alternate title: "Yeah, calling me 'Winter' or 'Autumn' is actually very funny, and I haven't heard that one before."

Hi, my name is Summer Dawn, and it says so on my birth certificate and everything. Sometimes, with the questions my name gets, I feel like freaking Ponyboy Curtis.

Whenever I tell anyone my name, they either think I've said "Heather" or they ask me "Like the season?" Yes, like the season. In fact, I've taken to saying it that way, too.

"My name is Summer-like-the-season."

People ask if I was born in the summer. No, I wasn't. My birthday is in October, if you want to get me something.

People ask if my parents were hippies. My parents both graduated high school in the late-seventies, so I guess it's safe to say they weren't.

I like my middle name, Dawn. It's ordinary; I went through a period in which I tried to change my name to either Dawn or Katy. It didn't work. My family insisted on callling me Summer, Summer Dawn or Sum.

It took me until I was twelve to get my name. "Oh ... like ... dawn in the summer time ... okay, I get it." Don't laugh. It was always just my name; I bet you don't know what YOUR name means, or even have really thought about it. A name turns into a verbal handle, and you don't think about it's meaning.

I don't understand people who like unusual names. They have no idea. You just want to fill out some paperwork or buy some motor oil, and you get twenty questions.

Or even better, you get those people who think it's the height of hilarity to make some season-related pun out of my name. Firstly, they really aren't that clever; it's really obvious. Secondly, it's only the 53,479 time I've heard it, so don't expect me to be too amused. It wasn't funny the first time.

So how did I get this name? I get that question a lot, too. My parents wanted to name me "Sunshine." If there has ever been a less "sunshine" person in the history of the world, I have yet to meet him or her.

One of my aunts, perhaps forseeing the trauma this would inflict, hurriedly suggested a "less scarring" alternative. It stuck. Thanks, Aunt Darlene.

I think.

 
 

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