Growing up with the name Wednesday sort of set me apart from other people. It made me seem weird, conspicuous, and different at a time when I wanted nothing more than to be invisible–one of the crowd. I switched schools a lot when I was younger. Once, in second grade, I asked to be called “Wendy” instead. For those of you who know me now, the idea that I’m a “Wendy” and not “Wednesday” is pretty fucking inconceivable. After a while, I got used to having a weird name, though it was not until my 20’s that I began to turn into the skid of weirdness.
I grew up with two brothers who have a different bio-dad than me. My bio-dad has 3 other kids, all of whom appear to be religious whackadoo bigots who I don’t bother to associate with. Of the brothers I grew up with, one is awesome and the other is kind of a violent asshat that I don’t talk to anymore. When we were kids, we three had the same last name, the first two letters of which are GU.
With that in mind, the older of my two brothers got the nickname “Gumby,” because it sounded vaguely like our last name. The younger brother eventually was nicknamed “Pokey,” because that was Gumby’s little horse friend. Cute, right?
But see, people who didn’t know us actually presumed that my parents named their kids Wednesday, Gumby, and Pokey. This made our fam look even weirder than we already were. That’s hilarious now. At the time though, yikes…Tags: family, wednes past