Reclaiming Christopher

My mother and father named me Christopher.  I've always like my name, even though there were the rare childhood fantasies of other names like David or Sean.  But these names were the names of other boys on whom I had crushes.  My family has always called me Chris.  It is my childhood name... not so much an identity of my choosing, but more like the chrysalis sack of my early development and identity formation. Folks that knew me back when still call me Chris.  Similarly, my youngest sister, Stephanie, in my heart and mind will always be Nikki.  This familiarity is the result of our bond.  This verbal shorthand is evidence of intimacy and longevity.   As an adult, I chose to identify with the formality of my name.  I like Christopher.  I has a bit of stature that I find I like.

To create myself as Christopher was to claim for myself an identity of my choosing.  It was the experience of stepping out into the world and declaring myself. Perhaps it was even a manner of moving past the insecurities and hurts of growing up.  I actually remember the moment that I claimed myself as Christopher.  I was 18, sitting in a tattoo parlor just outside of Fort Dix, New Jersey.  I had just returned from a very brief duty station in Berlin, Germany.  In that moment, when I was going to mark myself for life, I decided that I was Christopher.

I find it quite funny now that for years, when I introduced myself, people would usually ask me if I preferred Chris or Christopher.  Neck deep in my own inauthenticity, I would generally say that it didn't matter.  Only rarely would I say that I preferred Christopher.  It wasn't until I went to work for the American Red Cross that I would own my preference to Christopher.  It was in that place that my professional identity began to grow.  As it grew, it grew as Christopher.  In San Francisco, Los Angeles, Palm Springs, Tucson, San Bernardino, Tucson and even Boulder, Christopher was just fine, thank you.

Since I moved to Denver, in both personal and professional circles, people feel oddly free to call me Chris. Its a dynamic that I've never encountered before.  I'll introduce myself as Christopher, and people will say right back to me, "nice to meet you, Chris."  For some reason that I'm not quite sure of, I find myself silently bristling at the overly familiar nature of a complete stranger deciding that they'd rather call me Chris than Christopher.  In these instances, Chris does not bring back memories of childhood, familial love, nor the intimacy that it would suggest.  It comes across as disrespectful.  If you know who Kunta Kente was, you'll appreciate the value of a name.

So what I'm taking on is being Christopher.  From now on, when someone who is not a reference point from childhood decides to call me Chris, I'll smile patiently and politely and say ".....topher, my name is Christopher."  It think it'll be funny if people then start calling me Topher.  But at least I still will have the dignity of my own name.  Yay for reclaiming Christopher.