J is for Janna

I have begun the mountainous trek that is my Final Year Project and if I don’t arrive at the summit on March 29^th at 4p.m. I am screwed! I’m sure you can appreciate that as a journalism student, clear communication is a must for me when leaving messages and conducting interviews. Unfortunately, my name is making that increasingly difficult.

Saturday afternoon I was attempting to leave a message with an assistant.

“Okay so love, who will I say called?”

“Janna Murphy, he has my number.”

“Donna Murphy, no prob...” 

“No, it’s Janna Murphy.”

“Oh sorry! Gemma Murphy.”

“No, eh, sorry it’s Janna.”

“Jenna?”

“Janna!”

“Spell it for me.”

“Sure, it’s J for John....”

“Oh I am so sorry, I beg your pardon. This is John?”

“No, no it’s j-a-n-n-a, Anna with a J in front.”

“Oh sorry love, have it now, I’m not with it at all today.”

“No problem at all, thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, bye now Joanna.”

It was the worst case of name misunderstanding in all my 21 years and at the worst time of all. The bad luck of course comes courtesy of the Murphy bit! So, full of self pity and not quite seeing the funny side of it at that point, I relayed the story to a girl who has been a friend of mine for nigh on three years. I got the last response I ever expected: “Ha ha! What a dope! But on a serious note, what is Janna actually short for?”

But even with all the complications and with classmates referring to me as Jana for three years I still wouldn’t change it. I haven’t met another one yet, well not one that spelled it correctly. To be honest I’m glad to have escaped the other choices of Freya and Deana! So Janna Murphy was settled on, middle name Maria. Originally, it was intended as Hannah after my great grandmother but not even my mom was crazy enough to call me Janna Hannah Murphy. 

I was watching X-Factor and I saw Luke Lucas. I wonder if his parents had plans for him to be in the public all along and thought it would grab attention. Think of all the famous people with one name: Cher, Madonna, Iman, Rihanna. You’d never hear of anyone buying an album form Dave, would you? A name surely is the first step in becoming a person of interest. Which I suppose is why Elton John has sold millions of albums instead of the songs of Reginald Kenneth Dwight. 

Names seem to predetermine the category in which I imagine people. If you gave a character the name Grace I wouldn’t imagine an unattractive, thick necked, female rugby player. I would think slim, polite, and perhaps a little meek.

You could argue that how much you like or dislike a name depends on the individuals you know who go by said name. I never met an Amy that I didn’t like, I never met an Yvonne who wasn’t pretty and I never met a Sean that I didn’t find a bit odd. Maybe these are great coincidences or maybe I have attached a subconscious reaction to the name.

When I was ten my mom fell pregnant with my brother and she had a really hard time picking a name. For a girl it was Leah that was a definite but for a boy it was a painful nine month process. My mother had three simple rules:

1)       None of his first cousins can have the same name. (Not so easy when the kid had 32 cousins at the time)

2)      “Nothing that sounds scummy” her words not mine. (Apparently, this ruled out Wayne )

3)      Nothing that sounded awful in a Northside, Cork accent....cue my Nana G.

Nana G is my grandmother who signs all cards, love Nana G. Quite gangster for an 85-year-old if you ask me. She had a Cork Northsider impression of most names that consequently ruined them all. Ethan was unacceptable because she decided they’d all say “Are ya eetin your dinner Eetin?” Anthony was pushed aside after the “Alright Ant-knee boy!” impression.  My mom’s favourite suggestion of Ben Jack McCarthy was crushed by Nana G predicting he would be teased and called ban-jaxed McCarthy for life.

My baby brother was born nameless and on the day he was set to leave the hospital this had still not changed. Then my mother did something hugely unexpected, something that had never happened in my lifetime. She left the decision completely to my step dad. This is the same Manchester United loving man who had wanted to call a baby Roy after Roy Keane.

On a lovely September day Matthew Padraig McCarthy was signed out of hospital. Most people thought it was a wise choice, a strong name, a bible name.  My step dad would say it’s the name of legendary Manchester United manager, Sir. Matthew Busby.

Mathew is a name I think that will stand the test of time others will fade with the old of now. Just think, in fifty years time nursing homes won’t cater for Marys, Pats and Frances’. They will be full of wrinkled Chloes, Megans  and Jaydens.

So no matter how much you agonise you can’t get it one hundred per cent right. I think you just have to give your name the best reputation you can.

Finally, when you finish reading this blog I would like you to have a minutes silence for the tragic Connor O Connors, Brian O Briens and Neville Nevilles of the world.  That, my friend, is child cruelty.