“What’s in a name?” Juliet, you might well ask.
My life has been unduly influenced by books — words that comprise them, even names of the characters who appear in them — since before my birth. The Second World War staggered to its close as Mom (expecting me) waited it out with her toddler son in her parents’ little company house on the Big West Oil Field in the plains of Montana. Dad served in the Navy, at that time stationed in Norfolk, Virginia. I have their correspondence, saved all these years in a faded red and grey shoebox.
Dad referred to me, the anticipated, as Ophelia. Mom told me later they had also discussed Willowa. Willowa Wills would have been bad enough, but throw in a lifetime of fighting being overweight, and it would have been cruel. After I arrived with an astounding shock of bright red hair, Mom briefly considered Penny.
But, she read a book.
The title and author are lost in time. The important thing is the main character’s name happened to be Karen. Mom liked the sound of it. Of all those names, with apologies to Shakespeare, I’m happy with the one I’ve been handed.
That first foray with words launched a lifetime love affair with books and their influence. Ophelia, Willowa, and Penny. Who knows what would have become of a girl with one of those names? Ophelia might have gone mad as her namesake. Willowa might have developed an eating disorder, and Penny might have been unable to cope when the red turned white. Karen has flirted with various disasters, but is still standing.