My name is Jennifer, and from the years 1970 to 1984 is was
the most popular American-born girl name.
I grew up with at least one, if not two or three other Jennifers in my
class. Along my hallway dorm of my
sophomore year, there were five of us.
In kindergarten, I shortened my name. Apparently, as my mom says, my papers started
coming home with JENNI scrawled across the top.
When learning to write, an eight-letter first name is equivalent to
solving a geometric theorem. I simply
dropped the FER and have been Jenni ever since. I have met many other
derivations of Jennifer over the years.
We all have the same mission to unique-ify our rather common name. I have met Jens, Jenns, Jennys, Jennies,
Jennas, and true Jennifers. I am not
sure what my parents were thinking when they named me Jennifer. They are far from traditional; I grew up
eating tofu and homemade peanut butter and driving around in our Volkswagon Bus
with the named “Odyssey” written on the back as the CB handle. My sister is named the more original Lisbeth,
but then she has spent her whole life correctly people on her name. “No, not Elizabeth, but Lisbeth. No, not
Lisabeth, but Lisbeth.”
When I dream of a new name, I think of something more
heroic, such as Guinevere or Geneviève. But,
alas, I am a Jennifer.
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