My parents decided to grace me with a traditional boy’s name, Kyle. I don’t think I had a problem with my name until I started school. I distinctly remember entering a classroom one year and seeing all of my class’s names and birthdays written on cartoon stars. I remember seeing the girl’s stars having tiaras, and the boys having party hats. I was always the girl with the party hat tag. Every year in school, I had a masculine tag with my name on it. Even in college, my door tag was Mickey Mouse, while my roommate and all the other girls had Minnie Mouse.
Growing up, I always wanted to change my name. I always told my friends, classmates, and family I hated my name and I was going to change it. To what? I didn’t know, but I did know I hated the name Kyle. I used to always change my name when playing with friends on the playground, and I always dreamt of one day changing my name.
In the last few years, I learned to love my name. I loved its uniqueness and I wouldn’t give myself any other name. Even though I learned to embrace my name, I still face some annoying problems having this name.
When I go to doctor appointments, I always know when they are about to call my name if I am in a room full of girls. I always see the assistant look at the clipboard, then at the room confused, “Kyle?” I get up from my seat, and before I even say a word, the assistant exclaims, “Oh, I’m sorry Kylie! This form says Kyle.” I don’t care to correct the assistant anymore, I never do. I will see this person for 10 minutes, I don’t need to correct them. As long as my doctor knows my name, I will be okay.
I’ve been called every other name that starts with K, too. Katie, Kelly, Kylie, Kelsey, you name it, I’ve been called it. Working as a cashier in high school, customers constantly would call me Kylie or really any name that began with K that was not my own. One time, a customer even told me my name tag must’ve been spelled wrong, or thought I was trying to be wise and switched nametags with a male colleague. I had to assure her that Kyle was truly my name, and there was no error.
I had a professor in college who seemed very perplexed by my name. I remember this professor on the first day of class taking roll call. “Kyle Mahoney,” he called and I raised my hand. In that moment the room went silent as the professor looked at me with the most negative look. He stared at me for what felt like 2 minutes, before finally saying, “That’s a boy name,” in a rude tone. I honestly was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say. I responded, “yeah, but it is also my name, and it is a unisex name.”
Kyle is an Irish, Gaelic name. For males, the name derives from “a topographical term referring to a narrow, straight, channel”. For girls, it means “born lovely”. When I was very young, my mother was calling my name and caught the attention of an Irish woman. The woman told my mother that my name was beautiful, and it really does mean born lovely. I made it a point to find a baby book where I found the name Kyle under girl names with that definition hanging on the end of it. Whenever I get upset about my name, I think back to its origin. I laugh every time, too. I would rather be born lovely than a narrow straight, wouldn’t you?