what's in a name?

It begins with the letter S. It stands between the first and last. It stands out, with all its curves, from the straight-edged figures that come before and after. It stands with such mystery like most middle names do. In the second grade, I forgot that my middle name was Stephanie. I wasn't sure how to spell it until the fourth. And although I've always had a hard time with any of my names, I've had the hardest with this part. Stephanie. She is (was) my great aunt; my name follows hers. And like great aunts she stands hunched over, somewhat forgotten, but very stubbornly set in her place. I try to distance myself from it. Because I do not find myself in the name, I try to omit it. And this is when the guilt begins. I was named from her; my other names were built from sound and custom, but this one was from a person. She was my mother's favorite aunt and in her time she owned a jewelry store. And while I think little of this from a person in my time, it was quite ambitious for a woman in her time to own a store, and that earns her my respect. I have inherited one of her pieces, probably because we share a name. It is a piece of amethyst no bigger than a cherry.

Amethyst, as it turns out, gets around from culture to culture. Known as the "Stone of Spirit" or the "Stone of Integrity," Amethyst has been long associated with purity. Katie means "pure". It is the stone of the Buddha, and in Tibet it is popularly used in the making of prayer beads called Mala beads which are used in the practice of meditation. I have always had a fondness for Buddhism and have recently tried to study it more seriously. The stone varies in color from pinkish lavender to intense violet with flashes of red.

Sparrow takes its origin from replacing the ostracized Stephanie with a name I could more easily identify with. It was a slip up, a simple nickname that evolved into a longer attachment. I'm quite fond of it now.

I toyed with keeping the connection to amethyst. A small tribute to the person whose name I am abandoning. But unfortunately, all of the english names to describe the color are rather cumbersome. Purple is in fact a very awkward english name. I have a particular liking for indigo but it just couldn't get along with sparrow. So, straying to either side from the amethyst I explored blue or gray. Gray remains a top choice for me. It is one of a few list of truly american words, modified from the english grey. Sadly, neither gray nor blue could represent all that I like about amethyst and least of all its queer nature. So from here I moved to another color with strong roots in my identity. Black, not from emptiness, not from sorrow, but from resistance from social norms. Here is where I take my refuge. It is here that the name was born.