I hated my first name for a long time. "Emily" was so old-fashioned, I thought and I didn't know anyone else who had that name. And then, I found out my parents had originally wanted to name me "Jennifer" after my dad's sister, but my grandparents asked them not to. So I ended up with this name that I thought was icky, especially since none of my siblings or my mom's mother could pronounce it properly. Emma-lee is apparently hard to say: my brother's called me "Emmy" and the mother of my mother called me "Em-lee." I actually appreciated that my dad called me "E" instead of my full name.
I was complaining to my parents one day about this hideous name they had saddled me with and they didn't defend themselves very well. "Christmas Cherry" could have been shortened to "Chris" and I would have been okay with that. I mean, of all the names in the world, this is what they picked?! My dad very quietly got out the Simon and Garfunkel. He turned on "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her" and told me to listen. I did. I listened over and over and over. And then I fell in love with my name and think I understood why my parents chose to name their oldest daughter "Emily."
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