My "grown up" name

Warning: Long Post!

Somewhere along the way I decided that I wanted to be called by my full first name, Michael, rather than the nickname (Mike) I had had ever since ever. Here is an attempt at explaining why, hopefully without wallowing in self-pity.

Somehow in my head being “Mike” refers me back to my childhood, especially my middle-school and high-school years - which I hated. Deeply hated. I was young anyway, with my late birthday (10/22 - 8 days before the “wait a year” cutoff for school at the time), then having skipped the 2nd grade. So I was the “little boy” and the “smart kid” – neither of which helped me socially. I was 12 when I started high school. Too young, to be sure, but there weren’t a lot of programs for the “gifted” back in the early- to mid-70’s in Charleston, SC. (For the record, I'm NOT blaming my parents for any of this...) On top of that, playing the cello helped me be even more odd – I remember one signature in a middle school annual that said, “To a guy and his cello.” Another – “To the brain of the class.” So this is what I was known for, and I came to hate it. Well, I still liked the cello and symphony and stuff (of course, it’s MUSIC!!), but I hated being the “brain” because it wasn’t cool - okay, being in strings wasn't very cool either at that time... My grades suffered in high school because I did not care about them. I wanted to be more accepted, and I viewed my braininess as an obstacle to being accepted. I know now how lame that is, but that was then. I was a classic “picked-on” kid, made fun of by a lot of kids. With a last name like mine, an easy target. Additionally, being a MOTC (member of THE church) didn’t help me much in this department either – as someone said recently at BH, “Well, we are kind of weird.”

(As an aside, this last thing is a big part of why I am still repaying the debt I owe to Palmetto Bible Camp. It was there that I started to grow my own faith, where I could be a different person than I was perceived to be in Charleston (except for a few folks from my home church who tried to ostracize/ridicule me at camp too, but it didn't seem to stick), where it was good to be good, where my gifts could flourish a bit, where worship wasn’t stuffy and boring while wearing uncomfortable clothes, etc.)

I was a pretty good athlete for my age and size, but I was behind the curve there relative to my 'peers' mostly due to age, thus the qualifier. Frustratingly, I was somewhat in the shadow of my cousin, Robin, just 3 months younger than I, but “tall, dark, and handsome.” 6’2” (like I always wanted to be), and between the two of us (and we were together a lot, living around the block from each other) he was almost ALWAYS the one the girls preferred. I didn’t resent Robin so much, I just hated rarely being chosen. (For the record, I love my cousin and respect him a lot. We get along very well.)

So “Mike” is that puny kid who was almost never comfortable in his own skin, a "brilliant and talented" bundle of insecurity. “Michael” is a part of my feeble attempt to move beyond that. I can't say how well it has worked, but I still prefer "Michael" to "Mike." I just think it sounds better, too.