When it comes to my primary name, I’ve always been Anna. There’s not much you can do to make a nickname out of it. Some might call me Ann by accident, and a few times I’ve put up with being called Annie by people who thought it made my name cuter. And then there’s the mispronunciation of my name. Anna. A like ant. Ahh-nna sounds like an entirely different name. Unless the pronouncer didn’t grow up speaking English, I will correct them until they say it right.
I’m not going to talk about how many times I’ve been called Anna-banana.
I’ve had a few nicknames over the years. When I was little I was Nooniekins and Noonette. I was also Pootaboo up until I was seven. When my family traveled to Italy and we learned that puta meant whore in Italian, the name was dropped forever. A shame, really. I think Pootaboo is cute.
Around my middle school years a bunch of my cousins and I invented a game in which we passed around notes with names we invented for each other on the fly. Some of mine included “Narwhal” and “Neon” and “Nardy-dar.” A couple of my cousins still call me Neon thirty years later.
Everyone called me Lisa when I was in the Latin rock band because I played saxophone like Lisa from the TV show, The Simpsons. I loathed this comparison. I played alto sax and Lisa played tenor. There was a big difference between the two horns, but it meant nothing to the average fan unless it was one who sincerely wanted to hear what I had to say because he sincerely wanted to get into my pants. The boys in the band loved calling me Lisa because they knew how much it bugged me.
In order to get the letters LMT tacked to the end of my name, I commuted for months on a kid-sized mountain bike and ate nothing but broccoli and rice. Anna Horvitz, LMT. Licensed Massage Therapist, and a damn good one. Maybe one day I can get the letters PW on the end of my name, too. Paid Writer. If I don’t die of an aneurism trying to get there.
The Crow Lady is one I would never have picked for myself, but I’ve learned to embrace it. I don’t like how easily one could stick the word crazy in front of it, or take the word lady and twist it into “hey, lady!” and “that lady.” It’s not the name I like, though, but what it represents. I am that lady on the street corner feeding the crow on her head while simultaneously tossing treats into the mouth of the one at her feet. Sometimes I’m the lady talking to the bird on your neighbor’s fence. I’m not a crazy crow lady, though. I can tell you which of the crows in your yard is the male, which is the female, and which is their kid.
My favorite name is Pilot’s Mom. I don’t think it needs explanation. Anyone with a dog could understand.
Thanks for reading my Memoir Writing workshop writing assignment. Crows featured are Melby and one of Melby's kids.
This is my entry for the #monomad challenge, held daily in the Black and White Community.
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