The Name Game

   William Percival Richards was born on the morning of June 18, 1934, a healthy baby boy. He had curious brown eyes and would grow up to have frizzy brown hair that refused to obey the laws of physics. He was a scrappy toddler, and was interested in the whole world around him.

   William Richards was 6 years old when he decided he really didn’t like being called William, and began introducing himself as Thomas instead. At age 8, it changed to Benson, then stayed that way until he entered middle school.

   When Benson Richards entered the 6th grade, he became friends with another young lad called Danny Elpon, and together they wreaked havoc in every room they entered. In the 7th grade, Benson decided to call himself Reginald, Reggie for short. It made him feel important, and he and Danny would talk for hours about their fathers who were serving in the war. Danny’s father came home shortly after the D-Day. The funeral for Reggie’s father was a month later. 

   Reggie and Danny were thick as thieves until Danny met a girl named Susan in the 9th grade who thought that Reginald was a ridiculous name, and Danny sided with her. So he changed again, feeling sad and much like a chameleon.

   Michael Richards was entering the 11th grade when he began to realize that, although he wasn’t overly concerned with girls, that they were very pretty, and that they did not like him. At least until he joined the baseball team and earned the nickname Slick Mickey from his sister Judy.

   Mickey Richards was 19 years old when his sister went missing. Judy was only 4 years younger than him, and had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home, stole $70 from her mom, hotwired Mickey’s car, and never came back. They found her, beaten and limp in an alley 2 years later. Suddenly the name Mickey tasted like iron in his mouth.

   Hugo Richards was 25 years old when he got a position in law enforcement as an undercover officer. His alias changed depending on the danger of the group he was to infiltrate His job was to go and gather intel on various criminal organizations, and he was very good at his job. Even when those ‘criminal organizations’ were just groups of strapping young men like him who danced with each other in basements, just like his mother’s. His name felt like a cinderblock on his shoulders when it was yelled by the scared boys from the cars they were carried away in when his fellow officers raided the basements he had led them to. Suddenly, Hugo didn’t fit quite right. 

   John Richards was 35 years old when he realized that none of his names ever felt good to him. He didn’t know why, until he heard of a rebel woman named Marsha P. Johnson who threw a brick at some officers a few cities over. But nobody called her a woman at the precinct, so he surely wasn’t one either. It simply could not be.

   John Richards visited his mother every week, then every day when she was moved into the hospital for her lung problems. He was only 43 when he had to choose the arrangements for her funeral. Chrysanthemums were always here favorite.

   Percival Richards was 61 years old when he first heard the word transgender. He had retired 3 years ago and had busied himself in keeping up with the times, however fast paced they may be. He sat in front of the chunky library owned computer, staring at the definition, and feeling a new sense of belonging. He slowly accepted himself, and grew to love who she was.

   Jennifer Richards was 65 years old, and had undergone multiple surgeries and changes for the past 4 years. She changed her name once more, officially this time. That October, she met a lovely woman who was only a year older than her called Rosie Carmichael, and Rosie was an angel in a wheelchair.

   May 20th, 2004. This was the day that Jennifer walked alone, much like she had most of her life. But this time, Rosie was at the end of the aisle, waiting for Jennifer for 5 patient years, full of passion, laughter, sadness, and joy. From there, Jennifer would change her name for the final time to Jennifer Emily Carmichael.

  Jennifer Emily Carmichael was born on June 18, 1934, a healthy baby girl. She took a long path of pain, triumph, self discovery, and grueling self acceptance to get to where she is today, sitting on her porch with her beloved wife to her left, their 6 beautiful children they rescued from foster care, and a grumpy old fat cat named Peter. Jennifer is a modest woman, but she has learned to love and embrace every part of herself with the help of Rosie and her friends. Because life is not about how you start and how you end. That would be incredibly boring and out of one’s control. It is about what you do with your life, not how it starts and ends. Life is adventure, excitement, pain, conflict, passion, celebration, peace, and every experience along the way. Life is a story unfolding before your very eyes, ever changing. It may take you a long while to understand what your life is for, just like it took Jennifer a long time to be confident with who she is. Do not be afraid of change, embrace it with a toothy grin, open arms, and a sharp wit. It happens quickly, and you don’t want to miss it because you rush yourself to know everything and be perfect. 

   So take a page out of Jennifer’s book. You Experiment with yourself and love every version of you there has been, because it all leads up to who you are today. And that is what truly matters, who you are in the inside, not who you used to be on the outside.