Solange's Side: What's in a Name?
It's Sara sans "h," thankyouverymuch.
Today’s topic, for my first-ever “Solange’s Side” column, in which I’ll go on about idiosyncratic and maybe divisive issues, stems from the column’s title itself: names.
For most of my childhood, I hated the lack of an “h” at the end of mine.
Why, I wondered, did my parents leave off that one letter and therefore banish me from ever being able to find my given name on personalized trinkets at stationery stores or highway rest stops. To, inevitably, get the birthday invitation, the Secret Valentine, the Starbucks cup with it spelled wrong. Why is SARAH even the assumed spelling anyway? Who delineated SARAH as the go-to? (Answer: Maybe God? I just googled the Old Testament and our “Mother of Nations” is…SARAH. Mic drop.)
Alas, years went by and I shamefully shrugged it off; whimpering on the inside while wishing my name was Amanda. (Not sure why I chose Amanda, but that was the one I wanted instead.) I felt sad for myself and annoyed at my parents.
As I got older, and our world became digitized with names appearing more prominently in places — on Facebook profiles, in email addresses — its spelling started to bug me less. Or, rather, in a different way. Could people not SEE that it’s without an “h”? It’s literally right there at the top of the page. I became less bothered by the name itself, as I was other peoples’ lazy mistreatment of it. It’s not me, it’s you. Or, rather, it IS me…so just get over it and get it right, K?
Plus, as someone who, years later, curiously and non-judgementally listened to her sister propose names for her forthcoming child—my nephew Calvin Rhys—I realized how names are more a reflection of the parents themselves as opposed to the individual. After all, the individual has no say. They were only just born. Who even are they yet, but a byproduct of their parents’ personalities and DNA? The idea is that they’ll grow into this given moniker. (Of course, as we are now seeing with shifts in gender identifications, this isn’t always the case. But for the purpose of today’s column based on my personal situation, let’s go with it.)
In fact, when I thought more about my parents’ spelling choice, I developed a greater appreciation for them having gone the “nontraditional” route. It may have sent me down some social spirals as a kid, and still causes some deep frustrations as an adult, but they set me up for a life less ordinary. I love that. Now, I proudly say, “C’est Sara sans ‘h’” in French when asked for my name, and it makes me smile every time. (Let’s not discuss how hard it is to verbally spell my last name in French given that “i” is pronounced “e” and I’ve got both back to back.)
Now, who is Solange? Also me. Also a unique name. Also one I didn’t choose. This one was given to me by my High School French teacher, Madame Barry. Why it couldn’t just be “Sarrrrra,” as it’s pronounced here in France, I do not know. Instead, I got Solange—a name I have yet to hear anyone be called other than Beyonce’s sister, who I don’t believe is French.
Alas, to further take control of my given names—the one I’ve come to love and the one I kinda love to hate—I’ve decided to call this new column an amalgamate of my first ever newspaper column (dubbed “Sara’s Side” in O.H.S’s “Sider Press”) and Madame Barry’s moniker for me in le Cours de Français. After all, at its core, this occasional Tuesday letter will be a reflection of moi and my (admittedly very Larry David-meets-Carrie Bradshaw-critical) opinions.
I hope you like it—the name and the column! At the very least, you now understand it. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll become extraordinary enough to warrant selling some branded mugs and stickers on Etsy that any SOLANGE will be stoked to find. :)
That said, maybe ease up on the personalized baby gifts next time your friend (or friend’s kid) has a child. Don’t want to unknowingly give ’em a complex and the items can’t be passed on or shared very easily. See Exhibit C, for Calvin, below.
OK, now tell me: Do you like YOUR name? If so, why? And if not, pourquoi pas?
No, I don’t love my name. Everyone always asks what Judith my mother named me after. Garland, Dame Judith, Judi Dench? Love Sara w/o the h however.
I've always hated my name, 'Rosanne'. Not only is it spelled without the 'e' in the middle which confounds people, but I felt it such an old fashioned, dowdy name. I have, however, come to love my name or at least appreciate it with love since I am named after both grandmothers, Rose and Anna, and I adored them both. And since is it basically two names together, my parents decided not to give me a middle name -- so much easier when filling out official documents! As I've grown with 'Rosanne', it has been shorted to Ro, Rosie, Rox, Roxy from close friends, all spoken with endearment. So in the end, Rosanne is not so bad afterall and I have come to appreciate it. And, for the record, I love 'Sara' with no 'h' and your explanation of how the history of it has lead to your life off the beaten path.