One part of becoming a mother I really enjoyed, was being able to choose my babies names.

It somehow made me feel very grown up, that I would be responsible for this.

Perhaps it came from sometimes thinking my parents had not taken this part seriously enough.

My name is Gay.

A name can give you experiences that others do not get in life, some good, some not so good, but always growth in you as a person, lessons in life, insight into you and others.

In fairness to my parents, when I was born, the word Gay was not the G in Lgbtq+, but understood by most to mean happy, light-hearted, and carefree. (It was in fact the second choice of name, but my dad visited the pub on the way to register the birth and forgot this fact.)

The first indication that my name was going to become a “thing” was in high school when I got a new exercise book, I took it home and in my best handwriting wrote, my name, class number and house on it. I took my time as I was going to keep this book neat till the very last page.

When I received it back after handing in my excellently written work for the first time for marking it came back with a big red-letter E added to the end of my name.

I remember feeling confused and incredibly angry.  This teacher thinks I cannot spell my own name, and at the age of 11 felt insulted that she thought I could not grasp a 3-letter word, but worse than that she had ruined my new exercise book, now l would have to go home and cover it in some hideous wallpaper.

High school in the 70’s with the name Gay was not as bad as you might imagine. I never felt bullied or the object of ridicule.

Gay, referring to same sex attraction did not become mainstream until the 80’s and by that time I was working in London with Adults. That however did not stop jovial banter, and that at times it would make me feel uncomfortable. (I only liked being the centre of attention on my terms at this point in my life.)

I also learned during this time if you have a name you cannot shorten, then people tend to lengthen it, so one colleague liked to call me Galen, after the young chimpanzee in planet of the apes. Again, as a young adult my feeling of insecurity could be triggered at times by this. Was he being affectionate or taking the micky, did I look ape like?

As the 80’s came and went the banter was more frequent, I don’t remember the first time I genuinely found it funny too.

If being called Gay was not bad enough, I married and became Gay Hogg. I considered never marrying this man due to the name I would be adopting, it even sounded wrong to me.

It was much later while working in a call centre that I really started to notice people’s hesitation or voice change when I said my name. Many thought they misheard me, and I got called Kay or Grace a lot, (people often guess rather than ask again) eventually I stopped correcting them. In fact, to pre-empt it, when giving my full name I followed up with aka happy pig, most got it and it really eased the tension for them.

I learned to embrace my name.

Having an unusual name, is great when you want to be remembered and less so when you do not. It can also be fun.

In the 90’s I joined Facebook; I was gobsmacked that it would not let me join as Gay Hogg but when I changed my first name to Gaynor I was accepted immediately. So, I became Gaynor on FB.

I noticed that newer younger people at work would seek me out on FB before really knowing me, and although they would be introduced to me as Gay would often call me Gaynor, again I never felt the need to correct them, it never felt that important.

When I decided to start my business, I felt I would be taken more seriously using Gaynor, my name would not distract from the service I am offering, so here I stand as Gaynor.

I feel lucky to have experienced all that I have due to my unusual name and its connotations; I am proud to be Gay and Gaynor and all the variations I have been called throughout my life.

What experiences will you give your child when you choose his/her names?