#15 of Blogging with Friends
My mother was born a Rose, and I always envied her that. It’s a beautiful name, but she then became a Rooney, which isn’t bad, but it isn’t great either. It was common in the small farming district where I grew up thanks to my grandmother and my father and his brothers and my cousins. Otherwise it was not a common name – not one I saw in the media, or read in books, though not as unusual as that of friend who was the daughter of Dutch immigrant. But it was odd enough that people generally asked to hear it twice, and were uncertain how to spell it. I used to have to say “like Mickey” but not everyone understood the reference, despite all the replays of his movies that were shown on Sunday afternoons in the days when NZ only had one TV channel. By the 2000s, especially in Europe, it got easier. I remember in 2007 being amazed that a German hotel receptionist just nodded, and said, “yes, like the football player!” It was my first experience in many years when I didn’t have to spell the name, or think carefully whether the person listening would understand if I said, “double O.” (NZers typically spell things this way, saying “double L” or “double S” for example, but we’ve been told that others don’t do that.)
That double O has been problematic for much of my life. For some reason, a lot of people see Rooney (my surname) written down and automatically change it to Rodney. It makes sense when typed or written in upper case, but it annoys me nonetheless. A Cambodian official used to call me Rodney, which bugged me slightly, and I’ve had air crew look at my boarding pass and say, “Welcome aboard, Ms Rodney!” That’s a minor gripe though, compared with the habit a bunch of kids developed in high school, lengthening those Os, adding a few more, intoning my name and that of my cousin (in the same year) to mock us or embarrass us. When I got my AFS scholarship to Thailand, my class bought me a T-shirt with a NZ logo on the front. I was thrilled till I turned it around, and found they had written my name with four – FOUR!!! – O’s on the back. I took the T-shirt to Thailand, and wore it, and so of course, that meant my AFS friends adopted the same habit of lengthening my name, though with – I hope – more affection than mockery.
There’s obviously something about that particular combination of consonants and vowels, as ten years ago or so people started ending words with “ ….arooney.” (Search, for example, the word “fabarooney.”) I’ve even heard Stephen Fry do it on QI! I remember my friend saying it to me casually in a conversation, not even realising until I laughed and pointed out what she was doing!
And I’m not even going to begin to discuss what happens when a woman with a name beginning with an R spends a lot of time in Asia, where they have pronunciation difficulties with Rs and Ls, interchanging them frequently. Think about it.
Still, it is my name. I chose to keep it (or rather, I chose not to change to something new) when I married, sticking to my principles, happy to remain the person I’d been since my birth. I’ve never been Mrs <Husband’s name>, sticking to Ms or preferably just my first name and my surname.
And now I have another name too, also a flower name. Whilst I was given the name in 1980, I never really used it until I began blogging. I’ve been Mali (Thai for “jasmine”) for over 12 years now. I quite like the fact that I am Mali to so many, and I know I will answer to that when (I am being positive here) I eventually get to meet so many of my fellow bloggers and readers.
My last name—always problematic. Everyone wants to put an N in there. Few can pronounce it. I hyphenate socially sometimes with my husband, but not legally. We both have names no one can pronounce.
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I think I can pronounce your husband’s name – I had an AFS friend from Ohio (I think) with that surname. But yes, most people have problematic names one way or another!
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I assumed Rooney an Irish name. I grew up in a largely Irish NYC neighborhood, and while I don’t think I knew any Rooneys I knew the Looneys and the Toomeys and the Cooneys. You’d think my own last name (the married version) would be easy for most people, but it turns out most people want to stick an S on the end. Or change it to Jeffrey. Or Jeffreys.
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Argh! And yes, it is Irish. I didn’t even touch on that, I realise!
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I like my maiden and married names, so I use both–in my professional life. I dropped them for the blog and most of my creative endeavors.
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Oh, I like this so much. Dare I say it’s fabarooney? [As are you 🙂 ]
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Haha, there’s a lot I can relate to here! Children often find it difficult to pronounce “Lori.” Older Nephew always called me “Oh-wee” when he was a toddler. 🙂
Both my first and last (maiden) name have been misspelled my entire life. My maiden name means “rooster” in Ukrainian, and I spent a good chunk of my childhood in a primarily Ukrainian community, which meant that I was teased mercilessly about it by my schoolmates.
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I was happy to drop the husband’s name in the divorce with its complicated German spelling but southern Illinois pronunciation and go back to just Blake. Although it rhymes with many words, it is always gets pronounced correctly and spelled right (sometimes young kids misread it as Black but once corrected it sticks). Bridgett of course is another kettle of fish.
I don’t hear the -arooney here in the midwest USA. -opotamus happens (like a “gripe-opotamus” meaning somebody who complains a lot).
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It must be a British English thing. And I don’t think I’ve heard the -opotamus suffix either.
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I love hearing about names. I like Rooney.
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