My children were born during a period when my partner and I were deeply immersed in our faith. We followed a significant religion that requires children to have names derived from saints. True believers don’t just tuck a saint’s name in the middle; they make sure it’s front and center, often stacking them up. This is how you end up with names like Mary Elizabeth Catherine or Catherine Elizabeth Mary. We opted for a more straightforward approach: triple names, but with two family names at the end. All three of my sons have religious names, and I wish I could change two of them.
I Adore My Oldest Son’s Name
My eldest’s name is unique: St. Blaise. It ranked #977 when he was born, and we’ve yet to meet another. While we often have to spell it out, it’s a one-syllable name that doesn’t scream “super religious.” It suits him perfectly, and we still love it. If I could rename him, I would stick with St. Blaise. The name fits him beautifully, and it makes people smile when they hear it.
Not Against Religious Names, Just Regretful
I’m not outright condemning religious names. The issue lies in our departure from that faith. At the time of naming, we thought it vital for our sons to carry religious names. Now, I don’t believe that, and I wish I could take it back. No one expects to leave their religion, especially one so ingrained in their lives. When we did leave, it left us feeling lost.
This isn’t about the religion itself; many friends still practice it. My regret stems from how that faith influenced my children’s names. I was guided by the belief that they should have religious names, and now I wish I hadn’t followed that directive so closely.
The Name of My Second Son Is Problematic
When you look into St. Augustine’s history, you’ll find some troubling views on women. We were not the type of religious folks who held those beliefs, so we overlooked them. Augustine is frequently mispronounced and mistaken for a girl’s name. We’ve always shortened it to August, which I adore. But the overly religious aspect of his name lingers, causing hassle in forms and introductions. If I had the chance again, I’d opt for a more modern, laid-back name for him.
In fact, I sometimes daydream about naming him something like Ember, inspired by his birth month, November. I could even imagine him with a name like Moon, in honor of the celestial body.
Regretting My Youngest Son’s Name the Most
If I could change just one name, it would be my youngest’s. His name is Simon Peter, the most religious name of all. Everyone was proud of us for choosing it. But I would now prefer almost any other name. I hardly use it, and it carries a weight of regret. While I can accept my second son’s nickname, my youngest’s name has no nickname option.
The name Simon Peter screams religious devotion. It makes me cringe now that I’ve become more agnostic. If I had the freedom to choose back then, I would have gone for something much less traditional.
We may no longer practice that faith, but our sons’ names continue to carry that legacy. I’d much rather they have names like West, Sky, or River. Each time I hear a unique baby name, my regret deepens.
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Summary
In reflecting on my children’s religious names, I realize that my past devotion led me to choose names that now feel burdensome. While I cherish my eldest’s unique name, I regret the overly religious connotations of my younger sons’ names. This experience highlights the complexities of identity and belief, as well as the lasting impact of naming decisions.