One of the prompts from the Daily Post a few days ago to write about your first name. My name has been the topic of many debates, so it seems like a good a topic as any.
My first name is Trisha. Straight up. There is no “Pa” and no “C.”
My Mom and Dad had things narrowed down to two girl names before I was born… Ashley Marie or Trisha Anne. My Dad left things up to my Mom after that. For days, I was no-name. Apparently, my mother would just gape at me and ask “Are you a Trisha or an Ashley.”
In the end, I was a Trisha. A Trisha with an sh and no Pa.
Patrick says he is glad I wasn’t an Ashley.
The nurse at the hospital (after days of being nameless) told my mother that Trisha was not a real name, but a nickname for Patricia. My mother told her she could name her kid 1-2-3 if she wanted to. Plus, she didn’t want her kid to have a silly nickname abbreviating the name, so that worked for her.
I wasn’t named after anyone. I was NOT named after the country singer Trisha Yearwood (who spells her name like me!). She became cool shortly after I was born, but not before.
Trisha was just who I apparently was.
My French family really struggled with pronouncing it. The Tri is just not pronounced the same way in the French language. I was affectionately known as “Treesha” to most of my relatives, later, my French teachers and now, some of my closest friends. So much for the nickname thing.
Oh, and people find ways to abbreviate everything. Trisha became Trish. I used to hate it when people called me Trish. Especially this one band teacher I had in Jr. High. Now, I have come to appreciate that to some people I will always be Trish.
I did not have a single other Trisha in my class… Ever. I did go to band camp with two different Patricias and have had two teachers named Patricia who went by Trisha… One spelled it the same way I did.
I looked it up. Apparently of all kids named Trisha in the past 50 years reached its peak in the late 70s accounting for 0.1% of girl names in the US. Probably explains why I never met another one.
Only after I was in my 20s and it was less cool to have personalized paraphernalia did items with my name spelled properly start appearing on the shelves. I had a single keychain growing up. And a fridge magnet when I hit about 13. That’s it. Very sad, clearly.
I married a Patrick. Some people joke they can combine our names like Brangelina into Patricia. It is a little funny. But only a little.
I like my name. I sometimes get frustrated that people still don’t spell it properly. That it was misspelled at my high school graduation, on one of my graduation awards and 9/10 times at Starbucks.
It is unique, but without being so weird that people can’t even figure out to say it. It keeps things a bit interesting.