On Becoming Eponymous
by Julia Sneden
I still can’t believe it. They named her Julia.
It’s a name with an honorable, 200-year history in my family,
but I’m nonetheless astounded to have a child named after me.
I was named for my Great Aunt Julia,
my grandfather’s only sister, a person my mother admired even though she
didn’t particularly care for the name itself. She solved that by calling
me Judy. I suppose Judy fit me for the woefully brief period when I was
small and dimpled and adorable.
Come to think of it, the female names
from my mother’s family were preferable to those in my father’s. By rights,
I should have been Harriet or Prudence, there having been one of each in
alternate generations for too far back to count. Harriets named their daughters
Prudence, and Prudences named their daughters Harriet, until the Prudence
who was my great-great grandmother asserted her independence and named
her daughter Carra. Carra, however, started the whole mess over again by
naming her daughter Prudence. That was my grandmother, Prudence
Brown. She produced a son, my father, but no daughters. As the next female
child after that generational skip, I think I was lucky to escape being
named Prudence Harriet or Harriet Prudence. No wonder I learned to count
my blessings and live with Julia.
By high school, I had dropped the Judy
as too cute, and opted for Julie, which I considered a bit more dignified
than Judy, but not as formidable as Julia.
I finally came to terms with being Julia
in my mid-30’s, when I started feeling like a grownup. I’ve actually become
rather fond of my name.
However, when my daughter-in-law announced
that if their expected child were female, they’d name her Julia, I was
caught completely unprepared. I think I stammered an ungracious “…uh…are
you sure you want to do that to her?” Even worse, I may have followed
that with: “Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Whatever I said, I’m
sure it was the wrong thing, because of course I should have said something
conveying gratitude and love and the fact that I was thrilled and honored.
Alas, I am almost never eloquent on short notice.
Julia’s mother really likes the name.
I hope that will make a difference, so that Julia won’t grow up as conflicted
about it as I was. Her wise parents aren’t giving her an artificial, substitute
name (but she does have a nickname: they sometimes refer to her as “The
Jooge”). I must say, I think Julia suits her better than it did me. At
22 months, she’s a powerful personality. I am delighted to share my name
with her.
But being eponymous does feel strange.
When I visit my son’s house, and someone calls: “Julia!” I
tend to respond before I realize they’re speaking to the baby (this in
a house where I am called “Mom” or “Grandma”; sometimes I am a slow learner).
I really like my eponymity. That word
isn't in my dictionary, but I'm going to back-form it: after all, anonymous/anonymity,
why not eponymous/eponymity? It affirms in me things that I didn’t
know needed affirming.
I just hope I can live up to her.