When I was born in 1952, my parents named me Debra Gay.
I asked my mother why I was named as I was. Her explanation included the mention of Deborah Kerr, the actress. Mom had a friend named Gay, who, as her name suggests, was a joyful woman.
Thus, I became Debra Gay.
I meet Debras, Deborahs, Debbies, and Debs all the time.
A delivery woman last week visited with me on my driveway. Her nametag read Deb, so we discussed the popularity of that name among women of our age.
She said, “I never met a Deb I didn’t like.”
A clerk I encountered in a department store wore a Deborah nametag. When she saw my name on my credit card, she said, “Hmmm. My mother said when she decided to give me my name, she was ‘at least going to spell it right.'”
How was I supposed to respond to a comment like that?
My sister-in-law is named Lavana. She likes her name because it is unique. No one, upon hearing her name, ever asks, “Lavana who?”
I grew up in Northern Arkansas. There, women whose names ended in the letter a, often had their names pronounced as if they ended in the letters ie.
My paternal grandmother was Eva, so she was Evie. I knew an Elda (Eldie), an Ida (Idie), a Laura (Laurie), a Letta (Lettie), and an Alta (Altie).
Some people had common names, but because those people were significant to my family and me, we did not need then, nor do we need now, to use last names when speaking of them.
This is true of Duane.
Duane was a second or third cousin, or a second cousin once removed, or some such.
My siblings and I have known several Duanes, but, to us, that name always denotes the One and Only Duane.
Duane and his sister, Judy Ann, sometimes stayed with their grandparents, who lived across the road from us. (Their grandmother was Altie.)
When they weren’t living with their grandparents, they lived in Kansas with one or the other of their separated parents.
Duane was a hero to me.
I won’t say he could walk on water, but he could run barefoot on our rocky dirt road faster and more effortlessly than anyone else I knew.
Duane was also brave.
One day he swallowed a pokeberry, when all of us knew those purple berries were deadly. Their only purpose, as far as we knew, was to decorate the tops of mudpies or to force-feed to enemies. As if we had enemies.
But Duane survived the ingestion of that deadly pokeberry. Much to our surprise and relief, he did not drop dead.
Duane also used more colorful language than my parents allowed their children to use.
He introduced me to words like gnarly, squirrelly, and raunchy.
After an ice storm, I heard him say, “This road is slicker than snot on a glass doorknob.”
Wow!
Duane was also born in 1952. I am writing this on October 16, the 68th anniversary of his birth.
But no one is celebrating.
Duane died in a car accident before he reached even his 30th birthday.
I miss Duane and love him still.
What’s in a name?
A lot.
This picture was taken in our front yard around 1960. I am standing on the left, next to Duane. My sister Pam is next in line, standing beside Judy Ann.
The Happy Geranium 
Thanks for sharing about your name and your friend Duane. I’m sorry he died so young. It sounds as though he lived the years he had to the fullest. Makes me wonder what he’d have gone on to do. He gave you wonderful memories and something else, too. . .the funniest line ever- “This road is slicker than snot on a glass doorknob.” I laughed so hard! To be that concisely descriptive! You’ve sat on that line for some time, Debra Gay. Glad you shared it in remembrance of your friend Duane. 😊MKJ
Thank you, Mary Kay! We were not allowed to use words like “snot” at my house. It was mucus or nothing at all! 🙂 Debbie
What a lovely tribute. We never forget those who have touched our lives. (I love your name. I am always happy to see your blog pop up in my reader.)
Thank you for your kind words, Maggie. Thanks especially for addressing on your site the new block editor in WordPress. I’m always challenged when anything I routinely use is updated. (I hope I never have to buy a new clothes dryer!) This is my first post created using the block editor. I referred to your blogs as I worked on it. Your down-to-earth writing on the new WP editor helped me get through!
Debbie, what a nice comment to read. Thank you. So many of us are displeased with the new editor. It is a shame this rather large community was not considered before making such a change. I am glad the posts helped you.
This post make me cry. Duane. I loved him and remember him well even though I was very young when he was in our lives. ❤️ Great writing, sister.
Thank you, sister. I think the picture I posted was taken the same year you were born. You’re still a spring chicken. Cluck! Cluck!
Loved this story, thanks for sharing. I could picture you and Duane running down that snotty road.
Ha! Thank you, Shirley. We ran up and down that old road on a daily basis. Now I can hardly motivate myself to go for a slow walk around my paved neighborhood. What happened to my energy???
I love the picture, Debbie. And yes, there’s a lot to a name. The Bible references so many names with specific meanings.
Thank you, Becky. You and I were both blessed to have enjoyed happy childhoods!
Ah, Debbie, I love your stories. What is in a name? To some people it is everything. I was born in 1955. Mom had 2 cousins, Racine, and Pat. All 3 named a daughter Judy. I never met the other two, and often wondered what they were like.