This is how it must have gone down when my grandmothers met for the first time:

Grandma H: “How do you do. I’m Mabel. I play pinochle, 500, and Gin Rummy. I bid low, but take all the tricks.”

Grandma M: “Hello Mabel. I’m Martha. This is my husband John Edmund. We favor 500, pinochle, euchre, and double solitare. We can play cards for 7 hours straight.”

Grandma H: “John Edmund, you say? My late husband’s name was Edmond.”

Grandma M: “Was it? How interesting.”

Grandma H: “Yes, isn’t it interesting.”

* Knowing nods exchanged, possibly raising of left eyebrows.*

And so - as it had been silently decreed since early in Mom and Dad’s courtship - the first male born would be named Edmond.

Not that I’m complaining. I have always loved the name, and knowing it came from both grandfathers has made it that much more special.

But as a kid I was never known as Edmond. No, no, I was known as Ted for the first 39 & 1/4 years.

Ted, apparently, is an Irish nickname for Edmond. No, really. The Irish like to name their children one thing, but then call them another. I offer up as proof: Robert (Bob), Elizabeth (Liz), Margaret (Peg), John (Jack). I agree that the John/Jack thing makes no sense. But the Edmond (Ted) thing is really an Irish custom. Edward Kennedy goes by Ted Kennedy.

Perhaps they have to get creative after naming the previous four generations the same name. When an Angry Irish Mother cries out, “ROBERT PATRICK, GET IN HERE!” six menfolk show up.

Ted was a great name. Ted is the name of a cheerful fellow. Good-natured, silly grin. Ted is the name of a guy to call when you need to borrow jumper cables. “Hey, let’s get Ted.”

I loved that name.

And yet…the name Ted was not without its drawbacks. First off, every time someone learned my real name, I had to go through the whole explanation of the Irish naming system: “You see, the Irish do this with other names: Robert (Bob), Elizabeth (Liz)…” and even this was usually met with suspicion until I reminded the wary listener of Edward Kennedy’s moniker. Apparently if the Kennedys do it, the rest of us can as well.

And then there’s the whole “twin” experience. I have been mistaken for TWIN BROTHERS - Edmond and Ted - three (yes, THREE) unique occasions in my life, and once in Illinois legal documentation. Hmmmm. Perhaps the twin stories are best saved for another post. (I will say this in short: one delusional neighbor devised a way to “tell us apart.”)

But neither these are not the reasons why I chose to start going by Edmond.

Two years ago, I attended a workshop and the facilitator challenged us to create two name tags: one with the name we use in the world, and the other name tag was the one we ALWAYS wanted, the name we wish everyone would call us.

Upon hearing this, I immediately wrote out ‘Edmond.’

That was a little surprising in and of itself. I hadn’t realized that I *wanted* this. I hadn’t realized how important it was for me. For the entire workshop, this facilitator insisted that we each call the other participants by the ‘favored name.’ Even though everyone in the room knew me as ‘Ted,’ they played along and called me ‘Edmond.’

I liked it.

But back in the REAL WORLD I could never ask everyone to call me Edmond! That would be…uncomfortable. Or gosh - rude. Or what if the people who loved me didn’t want to do something that hard?

And yet…my path as a warrior includes asking for what I want. I may not get it, but I have learned that I damage myself whenever I decide not to bother asking. A little part of my passion and power fades.

So I considered this possibility.

A few other places in my life, I introduced myself as Edmond. I remember playing cutthroat racquetball with two strangers - a guy named Jim and his son-in-law. I introduced myself as “Edmond.” They shook my hand and said, “Hey, Edmond.”

It was so odd…so strange that these two people ONLY knew me as Edmond. I didn’t give them an explanation…my name just was what it was.

I started reflecting on the name and what it meant to me. Edmond means “protector of riches,” or “rich guardian.” I’ve even read its meaning as “protector of light.” I love the name itself - the aged quality to this name. It sounds a little musty. Definitely the name of a man who reads books on rainy afternoons. Edmond is quirky and formal. And I love the connection to my grandparents’ generation.

I pondered this further.

In October, 2006, while staffing a NWTA, I was called upon to prepare for and perform a task that was bigger than perhaps anything I’ve ever done. It required courage that I did not feel I possessed. I was required to step into a vulnerable, powerful, leadership role. Was I truly ready? Could I do this?

When I expressed my fear and confusion to a beloved mentor (Go Snake!), he asked me questions about my mission in life, the man who I am now. Snake asked me where my two grandfathers were in all this - had I invited their presence into my heart, their wisdom to guide me?

No, I had not. So I was quiet. Inviting. I asked John Edmund and Edmond Gerald to visit me.

Through the gentle questions, and my reflections, a small flame of protected light burned into awareness. I turned to Snake and said, “Ted may not be able to handle a challenge like this. However, Edmond, the protector, could.”

And that’s when I officially started going by Edmond.

Never regretted it.

I am Edmond.

I do get that it’s hard for anyone who has known me as ‘Ted,’ to switch to Edmond. It’s odd for me sometimes too.

In January I taught a class to a dozen coworkers and one of them made it a point to tally who called me “Ted” over the course of the two days (apparently I was a terribly boring instructor). When the class ended, he went around the room and said, “You called him Ted twice, you three times, you called him Ted four times…” And finally he turned to me and said, “And you referred to yourself as Ted twice.”

We all laughed.

I do find it fascinating to see who makes the effort and who doesn’t. Ironically, the people who named me (Mom and Dad) rarely call me Edmond. My siblings mostly don’t - usually only after I prompt them. Funny thing is that before I officially started asking everyone to call me Edmond, I asked my immediate family what they would think of my going by Edmond. All of them responded with, “Sure. Yeah. Great.” as if it were no big deal.

When I told my best buddy, Ann, she looked at me and said, “Edmond it is.” She rarely called me ‘Ted’ after that.

Coworkers struggle and then berate themselves profusely: “Morning,Ted. I MEAN, EDMOND! EDMOND! EDMOND! GOD, I’M SO STUPID!” I try to tell each of them that it’s alright…transitions take time.

I usually tell people that there’s a three-year grace period on the transition from Ted to Edmond. Relaaaaaax.

My next door neighbors’ adult daughter, Mare, gave me a little speech one night early this summer while sipping beers on her parents’ back porch. “Ted, it’s totally inspired me that you decided you wanted to go by Edmond. I think it’s great, Ted. I have always wanted to go by my full name, Mareia, but you know how people are, Ted. They just don’t respect what you want.”

I just smiled.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 30th, 2007 at 10:40 pm and is filed under Warrior. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.