“The name you choose... it’s
like... it’s like a promise you make”
– The Doctor
A name
is possibly one of the most important aspects of something. I mean, sure, you
can take the time saying “three pronged eating utensil” but why would you when “fork”
is faster and easier? The same is, of course, true for people. Think about how
much of your identity is defined by your name; it contains clues to your
nationality, the sort of people your parents were (looking at you, people with
emotions for names) and so much more.
As many
of you know, I changed my entire name at eighteen. When I was born I was named
after my father, I didn't hate the name “Michael James O'Neill" but, as the
years of bullying wore on, I came to hate what it represented. For me, “Michael O'Neill" was both a twisted old bully and a scared, twelve year old victim and
so, over time, I came to realise that I needed to make a change.
The name
I chose was by no means random; Peter Marshall was my Mum’s dad. I never got to
meet my Grandad Peter but, by all varied accounts, he was a good man and that
was something I was (and still am) trying to be in my own way; a good man.
I asked my Mum to speak with
her siblings beforehand in order to make sure no-one would think it
presumptuous that I had chosen to use their dad’s name but none of them did; they
seemed pleased that I had chosen to honour him in this way. My middle name,
Wallace, is my uncle’s name. Uncle Wallace, for those of you who haven’t met
him, is a large Scotsman who enjoys fishing, drinking whiskey and inventing
creative and insulting pet names for his nieces, nephews, sisters-in-laws and
just about anybody else that he comes across; he’s awesome and I love him and
he’s probably the closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual dad so his name was the
right choice for me.
I had to
put up with a lot of grief, however, from people who either didn't know the
extent of what Mick had done and one or two who knew but just didn't care.
The former was largely made
up of O'Neill family members who do not live in the UK, they had not been
around to see what Mick had done and reacted... strongly... to my decision. I got
called every name under the sun, I got told that I hated my grandparents (who
had already passed by the time I changed my name), I had people trying to guilt
me into changing it back, it was entirely ridiculous and very distressing for
me at the time. I ended up having to talk to them about what Mick had done to
me; something I was nowhere near ready to do at the time. One of my cousins couldn't apologise enough for what he had said, we went out drinking together
and are now much closer than we were before. Others, however, were never heard
from again
...as in they didn't talk to me again...
...I didn't kill them. Honest...
Anyway...
As I said, the latter group
was made up of people who knew the depths of cruelty Mick had sunk to and didn't care. These people were also “family” but felt that while the child abuse was
completely okay, my name change let people know that we weren't a perfect
family, full of Christian unity, and that was the real sin. Remember folks; Child
abuse= okay, Telling people= Not okay. These people have run an interesting
campaign which involved disowning me (not really a punishment), sending family
cards with my old name on (for five years) and leaving me off the Christmas list
while still sending money to my sisters.
My little sister, in elegant
retaliation, made sure that she informed these relatives that the money had
been split with me when thanking them for sending it. I can only imagine the
glorious rancour that this tactic must have inspired and life is too short to
make amends with people who support an abuser's right to abuse. True family is
made with bonds of love and empathy and doesn't need something as coincidental
as matching DNA to be true.
A name doesn't make a man
but it can tell you who he is and who he’s trying to be. The line from “The Name
of the Doctor” at the top of this ramble really rang true with me; a name is
more than just words. It’s your promise, your vow, your personal way of
standing up to the darkness in your past and in your heart and saying “No. You
don’t control me. You don’t define me”.
I wouldn't say I've always
lived up to the name I chose but all I can do is sincerely try, every day, to
be that better man. I've been told that this daily struggle is what separates
us from the killers, the rapists and the abusers of the world and I hope that
this is true because as long as I keep working on myself, I will never be like
him.
Thanks for reading.
