My name is Alex. Just Alex. There’s no last name, no middle name. I don’t even consider Alex a first name. It’s just a name, a proper noun that supposedly captures my essence in one word. If you think about it, names are a hassle to deal with. Cher realized this; she was born Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPierre. In 1979, Cherilyn dropped the French, Armenian, and half her first name to be known simply as “Cher.” Prince took it one step further and had the love symbol. I wish I could be “the symbol formerly known as Alex.”
I was born with the legal name Chackochen James II. Constant variations of my name came up during my upbringing: Chack, Chacky, Chacky Chi (my mother’s play on Chucky Cheese), and Junior. I was even called “number two” by my mother once.
When I was eleven, I chose my confirmation name to be Xavier. My name was now Chackochen Xavier James II. I knew nothing of St. Xavier; my choice was due to Professor Xavier of the X-men, famed telepath of the alpha order and friend to humankind. I had a special bond with Charles Xavier. I was also a mutant.
I discovered my power in the car one rainy afternoon. There was a light drizzle, so my father didn’t turn on the windshield wipers, letting the raindrops slide down the glass. It wasn’t long before I noticed that wherever my eyes moved, droplets of water also moved. From right to left back to right, from up to down, I moved water. Some scientists may call this phenomenon gravity; I call it telekinesis.
The variations of my name were not limited to my home. Classmates and teachers constantly mocked me, intentionally or otherwise.
“Is it alright if I call you Chuck?” my seventh grade teacher asked me. She had a particularly hard time getting through the monstrosity of my name.
“Why?”
“I’m no good with these Hindu names.” I told her to call me Larry and she did for the rest of the year. She didn’t realize it was a joke until my mother came in to pick up my report card and told her to “get cultured or don’t teach my son.”
The worst butchering of my name came from Donnie Osgood, also in seventh grade. He was a new student, so I was automatically higher up than him in the middle school hierarchy, but when he came up with a name that rivaled the mess of Ms. Keller calling me Larry, I was flung to the bottom of the social ladder.
“What’s your real name Larry?” he asked.
“Chackochen Xavier James II.”
“Choke-a-chicken?”
“Chackochen.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Choke-a-chicken. Is that an Indian name?”
“Yeah, but it’s pronounced Chackochen.”
“Is your dad’s name Sitting Bull? Is your mom called Pocahontas?”
“What? That’s a Disney movie.”
“Where do you live?”
“A couple blocks away.”
“On the Indian reservation? I hear they’re going to build a casino over there.”
“I don’t think I’m that type of Indian,” I said.
I was called Choke-a-chicken for the rest of the school year. During the summer break, I decided to change my name to Alexander, Alex for short. Alexander means defender of mankind, something that would resonate with me once Professor X found me with Cerebro. The shortened form, Alex, gained popularity in the 1980’s due to Michael J. Fox’s character in “Family Ties,” Alex P. Keaton. It was a win-win situation.
A few people still called me Choke-a-chicken but for the most part, my name change went smoothly. This was made easier because Danny Shasha shit in his pants during a math test and we all called him “Shitting Shasha” for the rest of the year.
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jhnbrssndn reblogged this from phillip and added:
Pulp Fiction, where Antwan Rockamora became Tony Rocky Horror. There’s...British TV...
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phillip posted this
