In case you didn't know, that is my name. My name is Nancy....Caroline Allen. I am a middle name-r, and I have been for most of my life, save one day...
Let's go back bit. All the way to back to: where my parents are from. My father grew up in the south, and my mother grew up in the mid-west (Oklahoma), but they met each other while working in Washington D.C. They fell in love, mostly to insure my existence, and got married. Then, they moved to Hickory North Carolina where my dad worked selling cars (I NEVER go to a car dealership without him), and my mom carried me around...in her belly. This is a brief version. I'm sure my mom did more. She's kind of cool like that. Anywho...
It was in Hickory, North Carolina on October 12 that I was born--in case you're wondering why I'm so pretty...it's because I was a C-section baby, and my head did not get smooshed. I'm not sure the process, but I know my parents had decided that I would be named Nancy Caroline after my mom's sister, Nancy Carol, who was named after their aunt: Nancy Elizabeth Irene Caroline (THIS was ALMOST my name). If I had been a boy, the name of this blog would be: George Thomas Loves You More. Seriously. GEORGE THOMAS. I digress. A birth certificate was signed, and I'm pretty sure my feet were rolled in ink and stamped on the fancy government document: NANCY CAROLINE ALLEN.
The morning after I was born, my mother was feeding me, and probably falling madly in love with me, when a nurse walked into the room and asked in a big ol' pretty southern accent, "How's Nancy?" (In the south, Nancy is pronounced as such: Nane-see, with a long "a." This is quite different from the mid-western pronunciation: Nan-see; thus, it startled my mother) For a moment, a very brief moment, my mother was taken aback by the nurse's butchering of a name she held so dear. Therefore, she was able to respond promptly, "Her name is Caroline." I suppose in the brief moment after the nurse butchered my name, my mother saw my entire life, but all she saw was children and adults alike saying, "Nane-see!" over and over again. It must have hurt terribly.
My father was not present at the time, and had to learn the news later, I'm sure after dreaming big dreams for me as Nancy.
And this is how I became Caroline. It's funny how much a name can affect a person. People often ask me if they can call me Nancy, which is absurd to me. Why? It's my name, but it's not my name. Insurance and payroll companies refuse to call me by any other name. Sometimes people call me Caroline Nancy, but that doesn't make any sense either. Nancy Caroline flows a lot better. Right?
So, yes, my name is Nancy, but you can call me Caroline.