As a kid, I knew something was wrong … with my name.  Even though I felt good about there not being a lot of “Bruce”s around, something was missing – syllables!

I complained to my mom:

You only gave me two syllables – “Bruce Kerr”

Looking back, I’m in awe of my ten-year-old brain.  Your normal person doesn’t care about syllables.  Even back then, I was seeping through the walls of “the box” … the expected square life.

Mom wasn’t concerned about my plight.  “It’s a perfectly good name.”

Flash forward forty years.  I had become enamoured with watching European professional cycling on TV.  I had created heroes, and I let myself rise and fall with their successes and failures.

One day an Italian cyclist came into my view.  And there was his name:

Francesco Casagrande

From the ancient recesses of my mind erupted “Seven syllables!”  I was in love.

At this moment, I’m smiling as I think of Francesco and me.  Let his name roll off your tongue.  Doesn’t it give you a thrill?  Or maybe I’m just weird.

I love three-syllable first names.  They undulate.  They flow.  I met my friend Genevieve six years ago.  She introduced herself as “Gen” but I couldn’t say it.  She was immediately “Genevieve” to me.  Today I’ve mellowed.  She still wants to be called “Gen” and I now abide by her request (while whispering “Genevieve” under my breath).

There’s another name I’m partial to: Elise.  She may look like two syllables but there really are three.  There’s an “uh” at the end.  I wonder why I love that name so much. 

Hmm …

***

I have a request of you.  If your first name has one syllable or two, get it legally changed to three.  Please.

And … feel free to ignore me