The Name Game: Part 1

My parents could possibly go down as the worst at the name game....EVER. My mother had decided long before she had me that if she ever had a daughter that she would name her Starsha. Eeeww! It sounds like a stripper name. "And next up to the stage is Starsha." Her back up name wasn't much better. Anastasia. Say what? Anastasia. That's right, another stripper name (unbelievably, my mother has never taken drugs, nor was she a hippie). My father was just as bad. He obviously found his inspiration in geography. He was really fond of the names Dakota and China. Hmmm. The only name that they could mutually agree on was Stacy. The name Stacy is a perfectly fine name; however, when you pair Stacy with my former last name, it was what you would call an atrocious combo. It would have been the equivalent to being named Matthew Matthison. Painful. Thankfully, my grandmother was with my parents when I was born and saved me from what I believe would have been a life of name torture. She said to my parents "what in Christ's name is wrong with you? She's going to hate you if you name her Stacy. Why don't you name her Tracy?" Thanks for being there, Nana.