Names, What's in 'em?

“That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Would Romeo have been the young man he was, had he been born to the Smiths instead of the Montegues? Maybe had he been a Hatfield and she a McCoy, it would have been the same. The Clintons and the Huckabees?

Was Juliet right? Names don’t matter?

Of course they do. Even among roses. Which smells sweeter? The Peace Rose or the Cabbage Rose? And the hybrid tea Black Magic which has no discernible scent? But roses, they all are.

Which sounds more regal? Hereford bull or whiteface bull? Lexus or Hyundai? Caviar or free range eggs?

How often have you been introduced to someone and you can’t remember their name because they don’t look like a Robert or a Jennifer or a Rose? Or smell like one either.

How many of us wanted to be called something other than our name. Especially during our teens. I was sure I didn’t fit my name. Claudia was, at least in English-speaking communities when I was a teen, unusual and easily shortened to Claud or Claudie. I didn’t meet another Claudia until I was in high school and then only one. A pretty girl, she was petite with a huge mane of very curly, flaming red hair.

Perhaps she should have been named Rose.