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One of the many challenges an American must face when married to a relatively
head strong Mexican woman is deciding on a child´s name that will work
in both countries. By the time we have finished shooting down each other´s
choices and suggestions, there´s not much left on the list. First off,
she always wanted to name her firstborn son Jesus, which is not exactly
a comon name for folks whose last name is Brady. Furthermore, it is pronounced
very differently in Spanish than in English. And finally, I would hate
to bring a lid into the USA with a nickname like "Chuy" (pronounced "Chewy").
You have to watch out for those automatic nicknames that are harder to
shake than a beartrap. Most American versions are fairly logical; often
just the first syllable as in Fred, Tim or Chris, or maybe with a Y tacked
on at the end. The most far out ones may include Bill, Bob or Jack. Here
in Mexico, though, they have some real stretchers and you might have a
daughter known as Lala or Kukis (Koo-Kees) because you unwittingly named
her Laura or Concepción. Or imagine a son called Memo or Kiki because
your señora insisted on naming him an innocuous sounding Guillermo or
Enrique. Actually, it seems that most Spanish nicknames start with "ch"
or else contain those letters, though nobody I know can think of a formal
given name that starts with "Ch". Angel becomes Changel. Alfonso is Poncho.
Francisco is Pancho. Aniseto is Cheto. Ernesto is Che. Anastasio is Tacho.
Rosario is Chayo. Santiago is Chago. Maximina is Chimina. Vicente is Chente.
Isabel is Chavela. Sergio is Checo. Graciela is Chela. And, believe it
or not, a cerveza is a cheve! There are many names that have no nicknames
(Juan, Roberto, Martha, Edtih) but do not work for other reasons, like
pronunciation. Down here, Daniel is spelled correctly but pronounced Danielle,
not a good choice for a son, unless you´re a big fan of that country classic
A Boy Named Sue and want your kid to grow up mean. I insist on avoiding
names with a J in them, which naturally many Americans will pronounce
the way God intended a J to be pronounced.
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Ñ´s and ll´s are
also best ruled out. R´s are especially risky; not only do Americans not
roll their r´s properly, but in Mexico Kurt, Shirley and Earl come out sounding
like Koort, Shearlay and Eh-yarroll. Then there is the "it sounds stupid"
factor. It seems that both my givens convert to names that in Spanish sound
comical. For national security reasons I am allowed to reveal only my initials,
but I am at liberty to say that their Spanish equivalents are Eugenio and
Gregorio (Goyo).At first, when my wife vetoed both of them, I suspected
her of reteliating for my veto of Chuy, but all of my local friends assured
me that these were in fact ludricous names that would cause a child to be
ridiculed and ostracized in schools and playgrounds. Genio means both a
genius and, more commonly, a stuffed shirt or pompous windbag. Gregorio
went out of style shortly after the Second Crusade and no famous actor has
come along to revive it. Of course, truly odd names like Humberto, Adolfo
and Ignacio (Nacho!) are perfectly acceptable down here. So, my poor father
and forefathers are rolling in their graves because I did not pass on to
my son the sacred first name that seven consecutive first born Bradys have
proudly claimed. All because it sounds stupid in Spanish. Similarly, my
maternal grandfather´s name, Leon, translates as lion and animal names are
not cool here. Even a fine Irish name like Rory, made famous by manly men
like Rory Gallagher and Rory Calhoun, in Spanish has connotations of "sissy".
Having felt the pain of growing up with a name which suddenly became a schoolyard
joke, thanks to a TV show best forgotten, I wanted to make sure that my
child received a name he or she would never resent and maybe someday sue
me for. A name can scar a person for life, just ask my old friends Beef,
Buzz, Lard and Cosmo. National security reasons prevent me from disclosing
what my wife and I finally compromised on, but I am at liberty to assure
the reader that I can correctly pronounce one of his two names. And if the
kid doesn´t like ´em, tough. |
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