In Search of Kate

WARNING: this will be a long and rambling post.  I cannot guarantee it will be particularly interesting, so you are welcome to skip it altogether if you find yourself dozing off.

Five years ago, I changed my nickname.  I felt a bit scandalous doing it, but that didn't stop me.

My full name is Katharina Joyce Weierholt Watson.  None of those names feels entirely like me.

Katharina is the name that strangers use when they call to sell me something.  They usually mispronounce it.  It is the name my mother hollered when I was in trouble as a kid.  It is the name I have to use on legal documents.  It was never a name that I actually felt comfortable in.

Joyce?  Never used at all.

Weierholt is part of my past.  I more readily identify with it because I use it for my e-mail address.  When I first tried to create an e-mail address as a married woman, I discovered just how impossible it was with the last name of Watson.  There are a million other Watsons out there.  Sheesh!

Watson is the name of all of them that I wear most easily.  I am called by that one daily.  It is thrown at me like celebrity status every time I walk into the school cafeteria.  "Mrs. Watson!!!!!" they cry as they plaster themselves to me as though they hadn't been in my class just 30 minutes prior.  I really need to get that celebrity wave down for our next assembly, since about half the school population will be trying to make personal eye contact with me and trying to get me to wave back at them.  Oi.

But nicknames?

I have been known as Kathy all of my life.

Here is my shameful little secret...

I have always hated the name Kathy.

Always.

When I was a child, I was made fun of.  I was called "Chatty Cathy" by spiteful children.

Remember that stupid doll?

Maybe you didn't think it was stupid, but I sure did!  I HATED it when anyone called me a 'Chatty Cathy'!  Even adults in my life would make reference to that stupid doll when hearing my name.  For years, whenever I was introduced as Kathy, I tried to downplay my nickname by pointing out my real name, Katharina; I guess because I thought that at least that sounded dignified. 

And so, five years ago.  I was transferring from a school where I was one of three Kathys on the faculty/staff to a school where I discovered there would, yet again, be another Kathy on the faculty.  I wouldn't mind sharing the name so much, if it weren't for the fact that 9 times out of 10 when someone said "Kathy" they would be talking to someone else.  Since I am a part time specialist, I am in less of a demand conversation wise?  Whatever the reason, I began to feel really invisible every time someone called out for a "Kathy" that turned out not to be me.

So, in a split second decision, at the first ever Harvest Elementary faculty meeting (before the school was even completed), I stood up and introduced myself to my future co-workers as "Kate".

There were no other "Kates" on the staff.  There still is only me.

I have always liked the name "Kate".

It took me a full year of being called Kate before it began to feel like they might be talking to me.

And here we come to the real meat of this post.

Who, exactly, is Kate?

How do I put this into words?

We are a sum of all our past life experiences.  Am I the shy girl named Kathy, who had a hard time saying "no" and feared both failure and authority figures above all else?  Am I the young woman, Kathy, who never set a toe out of line, and was so insecure that she never went on a single date in high school and could count the number of boyfriends she had on one hand?  Am I the young adult Kathy who rushed into the romantic idea of love and marriage, then had to spend a lifetime sorting out the reality of life, love, and marriage in the real world?  Am I that young mother Kathy, who was poor and creative and managed to spoil her kids despite having no money?  Am I that Kathy who managed my family's lives so well, but couldn't manage my own?  Am I that Kathy who let everyone else's needs come before hers, so that her body slowly morphed into this marshmallow disgusting-ness? 

Maybe it is a mid-life crisis, but I don't want to be who I have been.

I want to be Kate.

I want to put me first on my agenda.  I want to be the person who likes exercising and finds the idea of adventuresome living doable.  I want to water ski, and cross country ski.  I want to run a marathon.  ... okay... maybe a half marathon.  I want to hike in Europe.  I want to surf and scuba dive in the tropics.  I want to be the cool, hip, skinny grandma with the spiky, blindingly white hair and black leather jacket.  I want to be the person who says "no" to anything that gets in my way.  I want to BE the authority figure who is not intimidating, but respected anyways.  I want to fail spectacularly and not care AT ALL!

I have already begun the transformation.  It is a slow process.