What’s in a name?

Flipping through the birth announcements in my hometown paper (yes, I read obituaries too), I noticed an alarming rash of Caitlins, Ashleys, Brittanys, Tylers and Ryans.

Ah yes, the 80’s names.

The Baby Boomers are reproducing and many of them are giving their children names straight out of a trashy novel or worse yet, soap operas – tell me, how many “Bricks” or “Truckers” do you actually know?

There is nothing wrong with the new breed of names–many are original and pleasant–but it’s odd to see how each generation has its own collection of popular names.

Take our grandparents’ generation, for example. The hot names back at the beginning of the century were Hazel, Daisy, Gertrude, Ethel, Dorothy and Myrtle. Etc. etc. Little boys responded to the standard Joe, Jack or Jim, as well as an occasional Gil or Gus. For some reason, however, men’s names do not go through the same dramatic metamorphoses women’s do.

In the 50’s and early 60’s, there seemed to be a lot of Janes, Bettys, Trudys, Barbaras and Midges. In the next generation (hint: ours), Jennifer, Maureen, Cathy and Michelle were popular.

Generational name shifting seems to follow general trends in society–the staid early days vs. the open, free-for-all modern society. In addition, some names just “caught on” because they were new and different–and catchy.

Some names never change through the years. Typical biblical names were around centuries ago and probably always will be. I highly doubt there will be a shortage of Peters, Pauls and Marys (“Cause I’m leavin‘, on a jet plane…”), as well as John, Elizabeth, Michael and others.

Likewise, ethnic/cultural names have also retained their popularity and will be handed down for generations. These names are often steeped in tradition and reflect the values of their respective races and creeds.

I am not exempt from the name game – my middle name is Halen. Yes, just like Alex and Eddie’s little group, sans the “Van.” In our family, there is a strange tradition of having one girl’s middle name a blend of her two grandmothers.

In my case, the grandmas were Hazel and Helen. Lucky for me my mother didn’t christen me “Helzel.” Yikes!

By the time I get around to naming my little ones (in a long time – trust me), “Halen” may be in vogue. But one thing is for sure: no son of mine will ever be called “Trucker.”