When I was in utero, my maternal grandfather insisted that I be named Abigail. He pointed out that people could call me either Abby or Gail and having two nicknames to choose from would have me set for life. My mother hated the name Abigail and named me Sarah instead. Nice strong Biblical name. Simple. Easy to spell. No obvious nicknames.
Did you know that the nickname for Sarah is Sally? That's just silly.
Did you know that Sarah means Princess? I think I carry myself as such, at times. I think I have been treated as such by my father and old boyfriends and the like.
Did you know that Steven means Prince? I've met a couple of Stevens in my 22 years that have all occupied varying places and durations in my life. All of them have been kind. None of them have been princes.
As with most topics, I have mixed feelings regarding my Princess label. I have rather enjoyed being the Princess is some situations or relationships, but I do not agree with or appreciate the passivity of the position. The power of a princess is first in her birth and then in her beauty. Her power is superficial and almost always surpassed by the power of a prince or a king or a queen. The princess is the lowest rung in executive royalty. I enjoy my identification with her only on some days.
Abigail has a few meanings: Father's Joy or Servant (although they say "servant" has no etymological evidence to support this meaning).
Abby (in Germany etymology) means Highborn and steadfast. I was born into a middle class family and I am decidedly fickle. So that doesn't work.
Still, I have become obsessed with this near-name for myself. With this other identity that got left in some living room and faded in the mind of an aging grandfather. It lives only through amusing stories told by everyone but him.
Maybe I'm clinging to Abby because she is neutral and external. Sometimes I feel like I'm not myself. If I'm not myself, then who am I? Abby will do. She can bear the burden of all my questions.
So... Dear Abby, Thanks. You are better than an imaginary friend. You are an imaginary scapegoat. A royal scapegoat. For a Princess. Or not a Princess. Depends on the day.
Love,
Sarah
Note: For years, my grandfather refused to call me Sarah.
But he didn't call me Abigail either...
