Is your name Ryan?
Then you might not fully understand.
No matter how clearly I feel I’ve enunciated my name when we first meet, you will think my name is Brian. Brian’s a real name. A familiar name. Not Ryan.
In all fairness to my mother, she was expecting a girl (as the story goes) who would be named Renee. When it was discovered that Renee was a boy – Ryan was born.
It usually goes something like this:
Hi, I’m Ryan
Oh, sorry Ron (or Ray) (or Kevin, that one time)
See? Ryan sucks.
Ryan wouldn’t be that bad if there were a bunch of other, really cool Ryans out there; but there aren’t. Maybe Ryan Gosling, but how are you going to compete with that? In fact, my full name is Ryan Whitehouse, which is doubly crappy for two reasons:
1. I live in a gray house, and grew up in a red one.
2. That poor kid Ryan White who had and died of AIDS
I’ve always wanted a cool nickname, too. Never happened. Ry doesn’t count. Ask any Steven if Steve is a good enough nickname – it’s not.
There was a kid in elementary school named Cameron, who kids went before and had great names bestowed upon them: Paco, Swivel, etc. I never got the chance.
There’s a buddy of mine who calls me Gigantor, presumably because I’m thick. It’s pretty cool, but he’s the only one. A girl at a nursing home I work at used to call me “That Big Calf Guy” until she learned my name, so that’s awesome because blogs don’t name themselves – but nobody calls me that anymore.
If I had to choose a new name, I’m not sure what I’d pick. Something many and perhaps monosylabic. Something like Jack. Something like Phil. When you introduce yourself as Phil, people know who they’re talking to.