My name, as you may have guessed is Gretchen. It wasn’t going to be Gretchen, it was going to be Erica (or Daniel, if I’d been a boy). My mother was overdue, and they induced her but it wouldn’t take. In the hospital, the nurses discouraged her from naming me Erica, because of "that bitch" Erica Kane on All My Children. When I was born, ten days late, my parents looked at me and decided that I wasn’t an Erica after all — I was Gretchen.
The other Gretchen they knew? My great-aunt’s dachsund. I understand she was a lovely dog.
So, I was Gretchen. It’s kind of hard to imagine calling a baby "Gretchen," but it aligns with my own belief about names, in that an Adult Name will only sound weird for a short time, while a Cutesy Name might sound weird for all of adulthood. And, I was named after a dog. A HOT DOG. (My sister was named after my parents beloved Black Lab that died just two weeks after I was born. I am so not kidding.)
When I was a kid, I only noticed that I had an uncommon name when I checked the racks of personalized pens, barrettes, bicycle license plates, stickers, calculators, and other stuff that every Jennifer and Melissa in my classes had. When I did find something that said "Gretchen," I hoarded it. (Even now, I have a set of "Gretchen" stickers in a filing cabinet upstairs, from when I was about nine years old. I know.) My mom ordered peronalized stuff from Lillian Vernon, and my dad made a sign for my room out of driftwood and washed up rope from the sea, using finishing nails to spell out "Gretchen" in cursive. Even today, I have to check those racks. It used to jump from "Gina" to "Heather," but apparently the name Gina has lost momentum, because it’s not there anymore either. There are very few G names for girls.
I didn’t have many nicknames, as Gretchen is a diminutive, anyway, it’s hard to make it any ‘cuter.’ It did rhyme with "Wretched" and "Retchin’," and as I got older, some kids thought it was in close proximity to "Bitchin’," which could be good or bad. More dangerous for taunts was the fact that I was wearing glasses by second grade, and FourEyes was my Achilles heel. Or eye, as it was.
I love my name. Maybe more than I should. I kept my maiden name for many reasons, but one was that it just goes so well with Gretchen. My full name, which is German, sounds strong and independent. If I ever get that book written, it is a great name. Gretchen Gordon (my married name, had I chosen it)? Sure, it has some alliteration going on, but ew. Not like my maiden name.
I love having a different name. I never, ever, needed my last initial as an identifier. I can tell you who the other four Gretchens were in my county while I was in high school. We all figured out who the others were, because when we went to games and would be responding to someone calling "Gretchen!" only to find it wasn’t US, but another Gretchen. When I meet a Gretchen now, we always, without fail, have a conversation about our name. There’s one at our bank, and there was a four year old when I subbed at the daycare. (I was "Tall Gretchen" there, and it is the only time, ever, that Tall will be used as a descriptor for me.) One of my classmates in the online course I just took had a daughter named Gretchen. It’s a damn fine name, as those of us who have it can attest. I’ve never met a Gretchen that hasn’t loved her name. I am part of the International Sisterhood of Gretchen. It’s a great club.
And, I owe it all to a weiner dog from the sixties. Not bad if I do say so myself.
(PS, thanks for checking in — I knew some of you were here, but I was surprised to see some non-Digsters! Hi, and thanks for reading and stuff. :D)