Like Anne of Green Gables, I'm not quite sure of this quote by Shakespeare. For she's right: a rose would not smell as sweet if called a "skunk cabbage".
If you're like me and have a sibling or two - or seven - you know to answer to the names of your siblings. Years ago at a Bible study, we were learning about the names of God. Whoever taught that night gave us all a piece of paper and asked us to write down any nicknames we had. Allyson, a gleam in her eyes, asked, "Does Erin, Danielle, Charity and Paul count?" Those are the names of her siblings.
But I've been away from home for over two months now. There's no one else in the house to get my name mixed up with. Friends don't typically call you by the names of your siblings. New acquaintances don't even know them. It's a foreign thing for me, actually. I walk into church on Sunday and people greet me by my name. I can't explain how odd that is after walking into church with my family for nearly thirty years.
So yesterday when my boss called "Sally" from his office, I didn't even answer. From my desk, I can see him but I wasn't at my desk. I was off to the side near the counter putting papers in order. She social worker sat at my desk editing a program for a memorial service in a couple of weeks. As there is no one in the office named "Sally", at first I wasn't sure who he was talking to. But after 21 years of being sometimes referred to as "Sally", I peeked around the corner and asked, "Did you mean me? Melissa?" For a minute he just looked at me, but dawn broke. He started to laugh. "Sorry, Melissa."
A rose by any other name does not smell as sweet. I don't want to be "Sally" anymore than Sally wants to be "Melissa". Funny how a name becomes your own.
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