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How to Burden Your Child
A person with a bad name is already half-hanged.
Proverb
A name is defined as an entity that will designate and distinguish you from others. If so, Korey Kuhl is not only my entity, but also my curse. At the first sound of my name, the average person wouldn’t think it’s terrible. After all, it has nice alliteration and my last name is pronounced cool. What more could someone ask for, right? Wrong. After carrying this burden for what seems like an eternity, I have a better judgment of how truly terrible my name actually is.
Let’s start with the image that comes to mind when my name is said aloud. Does anyone else envision a cartoon character? Perhaps a dopey woodland animal wearing an outdated wardrobe? His clothes consist of oversized baggy jeans and a backwards hat. A creature lacking cool appeal; a creature held back by a creator years behind the fashion trends. The creator’s intentions were to create a character that is suave, charming, and all-around “cool.” However, Korey Kuhl the cartoon character was drawn with such cute features, (big rosy cheeks, buck teeth, and puppy dog eyes that could melt any heart) that the creator might as well change his name to Korey Cute.
My name screams cute little kid. Something I was fine with up until I surpassed middle school, when a guy no longer wants to be seen as cute. In high school I wanted to be desired. Seen as tough. I was past my days of running from girls on the playground; trying to avoid the inevitable death that came from being caught in a dreaded game of “catch em’ and kiss em.” I blame my name for my young features. My baby face and less than burly body is something that will get me Id-ed every time I purchase alcohol clear into my 30’s. It’s as if your genetic make-up isn’t determined until the nurse puts a name on the birth certificate. Brads are strong, strapping, and tough. Emilys are quiet, reserved, and polite. Apparently Koreys are cute, childlike, and never taken seriously.
Even looking at my name on paper sparks an interest. Notice the two Ks? If you aren’t dying to know my middle name or at least my middle initial, then you aren’t like most of the world’s population. No my middle name isn’t Kevin. My middle initial doesn’t start with a K. My parents aren’t racist. And I am not a member of the Ku Klux Klan, but thanks for asking. When they finish their spiel about how funny it would be if my initials read KKK, and before I am even able to tell them that my middle name is James, they are at it again. Is your middle name Isn’t? Get it? Korey Isn’t Kuhl. Wow. Yes you caught me; my parents did choose for my middle name the contraction for is not. And no, I’ve never heard that one before; you’re actually the first person to ask.
Shall we progress with how easy my name is to spell? At least I think it is, but I’ve carried this curse with me my entire life. Did you know most people won’t even ask a Korey if they spell their name with a K or a C.? For some reason they always over look that the name Korey has multiple spellings. I’m lucky if people ask me whether it ends with ey or just y. Is Korey with a K truly that unique and unheard of? At my high school graduation party approximately every other check had my name spelled with the letter C. Maybe we misprinted the invitations, but I’m certain my correct name was printed on it somewhere. In bold letters.
If someone else has to write down my name, I just start out spelling it for them. However, if there’s one thing I dread the most it is that rare occurrence when someone else writes down my name and I didn’t spell it for them. I know they spelled my name with the letter C and when I correct them, instead of starting over they think they’ve found a quick way of fixing their error. They always just draw a line in front of the C with the hopes of making it as if their mistake never happened. In turn, what they create always ends up a different letter all in itself. Something foreign. Something that now looks like neither a K nor a C, but rather a blind mans attempt at the cents symbol.
I hate when people spell my name with the letter C. The letter C is boring, something that I do not reflect. The letter C is common, ordinary, frequent and familiar. There is nothing special about a Corey with a C and I am special. I am not that terrible third letter of the alphabet. I am the letter K. I am unique, unusual, and not part of the everyday. This hatred for the letter C has led me to introduce myself to others as, “Korey with a K.” My unique introduction seems to always spark hilarious responses from the people I meet, such as: Sarah, with an S, or even Bill, with a B. With a name like mine the amusement involving the people I encounter never ceases.
I know all of the misspellings, puns, and KKK jokes wouldn’t bother me as much if my name had some significant meaning or linkage to my past. If I knew that a grandparent or great grandparent before me, suffered the same trials and tribulations I do. However, my name has no real meaning, in fact no linkage to my past at all. My name doesn’t come from a grandparent, or parent’s childhood friend, not even my mom’s first boyfriend’s pet Chihuahua. I’m at the point where I’d take anything. At least being named after a dog would give me a story that goes along with my dreadful name.
When I confronted my parents about why they named me Korey, they both came up with their own separate recollections; as they do with most of their stories being a divorced couple of nearly 15 years. My mother said Korey with a K was her idea, so I called my father to see what ideas he had come up with prior to my birth. When he answered I told him I had a question about my name. He asked sarcastically if I needed help spelling it. He then proceeded on with, “It’s C..o…,” followed by a pause. “Oops, it’s a K right?” he then said. My father, still a bitter man after all these years, didn’t care what my first name was as long as it started with a C. All he wanted was to call me C.J. He claims that he and my mother had agreed on his idea, Coley with a C. So although they couldn’t agree on a name, their consensus was to ruin my life.
I can tell no real planning went into my naming process. My parents were probably too tired with balancing their jobs, along with a toddler and a 13 month old. Maybe they were so busy they didn’t even realize my mother was pregnant for the third time. My parents named my older two brothers Jason John and Jordan Joseph. As you can see Korey with or without a K, doesn’t quite fit in anywhere. My parents claim that they looked at other J names, but couldn’t find one that either of them liked. I guess they exhausted the letter J, when each of my older brothers got not just one, but two J names.
In their chaotic lives my due date snuck up on them before they could make any final name decision. When I was born, and it came time for the nurse to put a name on my birth certificate; a name came to my mother, one which wasn’t discussed, regardless of spelling. Could there have been side affects from the drugs? Could the on sight of now having three sons under the age of 3 make her lose temporary sanity? Either way, somewhere between the labor and the signing of the birth certificate the name Korey with a K came to her. It would be cute, she thought. If her third son’s name couldn’t start with a J, how about the next letter in the alphabet? So without consulting my father she told the nurse I was to be named Korey with a K. You’d think that being born on the 7th day of a month would grant you some luck, apparently that’s not true.
I wish babies were born with the ability to speak. Even being fresh out of the womb; I would have talked some sense into her. Hopefully I would have been as eloquent then as I am now. In my first minutes as a newborn, lying in her arms, I’d look up with a last minute effort and plea, “reconsider?” I’d ask her to put some more thought into naming me. Go over some other J names. Consult my father; they say two heads are better than one. Pick something masculine. Something easy to spell. Something that won’t burden me for the rest of my life! (Why was I being punished so soon, and with a punishment that would last a life time?) Who am I kidding; even now my mother and I tend to disagree more often than not. She never would have listened to me in those first hours, regardless of how cute I was. She’d easily brush off my threats to be colicky.
A person’s name is not just their title, it’s who they are. If this is true I am not just Korey with a K. I am constant misspellings and terrible puns. I am cute and cartoony. I am seen as ordinary when I am unique. I am cursed with the genetic make-up of an adolescent boy. Although my mother’s last minute deranged decision didn’t ruin my life, it did however, make it unnecessarily annoying. I suppose my name is just part of the hand life dealt me. If this is the case, then I fold.