Author: sssmahh303

Mary Ann

When I was born mid-century, now an antique, double names were in vogue – Debbie Sue or Barbara Ann.  I was named after my grandmother, Mary, and there was a great, great grandmother who was named Mary Ann. I did not have a middle name.  However, the entire world for my entire life has tried to make me a Mary and Ann as my middle name.  I have never felt like a Mary.  I am Mary Ann.

For the most part I could correct my name by raising my hand or changing my name on the back of a document sent to me – you know, put corrections on the back. I tried using my maiden name as a middle name and the Ann was still dropped.  

I lived like this for most of my life until Social Security suddenly began to call me Mary.  For years, they used Mary Ann.  I guess with a new computer system or whatever, they dropped the Ann.   It is interesting to be in a Social Security office and have they tell you your name is Mary and you tell them no, it is not.  Sorry, that is how your state has registered your birth so we must use that. Oh, NO!!

Social Security then sent me to the courts to change my name.  The judge looked at my birth certificate and said you can’t change your name to your name.  Then he sent me on my way.  This was a bit frustrating.  I went to see my Congressional Representative.  Of course, I didn’t see him, but I got a staffer who was most helpful.   They told me to bring my parents to the local office, and they could verify what my name was.  My ninety-year-old parents went with me to the office.  They told the staff that I was a Mary Ann with no middle name.  The paperwork was completed, and my name was submitted as MaryAnn, no space.  A month or so later, I received a new birth certificate.  I then submitted it to Social Security, and they finally accepted it using my correct name. 

Thankfully, my parents were alive to help me correct my name.  I am not sure what I would have had to do if they were not.  I guess I would have had to hire a lawyer and go back to court.  For the most part, things have been better now since I have done the change.  When I get mail now, those who address me as Mary do not know me, and I pay no attention to the correspondence.  

Naming your child is one of the biggest responsibilities a parent has.  There are so many things to consider.  Does the name have more than one spelling?  Is it easy to pronounce?    Do the initials spell something weird?  Are you going to give an extremely long name to your child?  Think of a first grader learning to spell his or her name. It will take them forever to do this.  Sometimes a baby name doesn’t age well, and conversely, an adult name can be a heavy thing for little shoulders to carry.  Be mindful if you give a double name to your child.  Make it one word if you can such as Annamarie or Marianne. You can also add a hyphen – this is called a double barrel name and is common in many countries such as the UK.  Just know if you don’t, you are giving your child a lifetime of hoops to jump through.  I am living proof!

Some countries in the world actually have restrictions on naming children.  However, the United States is known as the naming wild west – anything goes. Elon Musk has used digits to name one of his children – XAEA-12.   According to the Social Security records, Olivia and Liam are the top USA names for this past year – easy in every way! 

I have just purchased my headstone, and I made sure that my name was correctly spelled as I want it.  I don’t want to go into eternity with the wrong name planted above me!  It has been a bit of hell on earth for me fighting constantly to correct my name.  I would like to rest in peace!!

Mary Ann

When my father was alive, he would attend a local monthly WWII Veteran’s luncheon, so one year I was home visiting him for the 4^th of July, and he asked me to go with him to the picnic.  Despite being in his 90s, he could walk so I just think he wanted company because he didn’t need help to get there.  

The picnic was at the local firehall, and there were about 50 people attending.  For once, I was one of the youngest women there. That doesn’t happen very often anymore.  The men were all greeting each other, and I was getting introduced to everyone. Maybe my father was showing me off a bit.  Even though they were older gentlemen, they could still flirt with a knowing wink or mischievous smile.  I was having a good time.

With each hello, I would ask what their role was during The War – there was only one war, WWII, for this group. They would share that they were on the beaches of Normandy or they freed a concentration camp or fought with the Marines on Iwo Jima.  I was talking to living history. The gentleman across from me at the table told me every few minutes about D-Day, and I listened patiently because it was important to him, and it was a memory he still had.  

Most of these men didn’t talk about The War when they came home, and the stories remained deep in their souls.  They had a lot of lost time to make up for and didn’t need to dwell on the tough times in their lives. However, as they got older, the stories seemed to rise to the surface.  At least, it did with my father.   His memories, his stories are precious to me now.

Well, after the social “hour,” it was time to eat.  We filled our plates with hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, and baked beans – typical fare at a picnic.  Everyone was seated and grace was given, and birthdays were acknowledged with several of the men reaching milestones in the 100s. With each month’s meeting, fewer men were in attendance – The Greatest Generation was rapidly disappearing. 

 After the birthday wishes were extended, we all stood for the Pledge of Allegiance.  Old men in walkers who could barely stand did their best to rise for the Pledge.  They all did and loudly began “I Pledge Allegiance to The United States of America….”  I became so overwhelmed with emotion that I began to cry.  (Tears still fill my eyes as I write this.)  I was free because all these men had sacrificed their youth with their bodies, minds, and souls.  At that moment, I understood the meaning of the Pledge and why they fought for liberty and democracy. 

In this very divided time in our country’s history, I don’t think those men were thinking along party lines or if they were from a blue or red state as they stormed the beaches of Normandy.  They knew their purpose to fight for freedom and against tyranny. I will always be thankful for that day and the treasured gift those men gave me.  That may have been my father’s purpose in including me that day.  Daddy was always so wise, and there was a lesson to be learned that day.   

Mary Ann

When our parents build our childhood home, they purchased a lot that had a small creek along the one boundary.  It was about two feet wide and six to twelve inches deep as it meandered towards the Susquehanna River.  

The property had an interesting history before we claimed it as our home.  Early in its history, an Indian tribe had a village there.  We would find arrowheads and other artifacts when we were tilling the ground to plant.  In the early part of the 20th century, the property was an ostrich farm – the feathers were used for ladies’ hats of the time.  Mid-century, the land was used as a nursery. The creek remained central in all chapters of the land, and it was for our family as well.

When my brother, Timmy, and I were young, we were constantly in the creek.  We would build dams; catch crawfish, baby fish, or frogs; and one year, we discovered freshwater muscles.   The muscle shells had mother-of-pearl interiors.  We were sure we could make jewelry out of the shell and become rich. Childhood dreams!

Alongside the creek, we would build barns for imaginary horses and jumps for them to leap.  It was endless days of summer fun.  In any season, we were playing in or by the creek.  On snowy days, we would cross a wooden plank that bridged the creek allowing us to get to the ice-skating ponds.  Often, we would slip and fall in the creek’s really cold water.   Our mother was always thawing us out as we dressed again to go outside and do it all over again.  

 One summer, the creek dried up, and all the baby fish were in small puddles thrashing around to stay alive.  I caught a snake having dinner on the trapped fish.  I went for a shovel to end it days, and it was gone by the time I returned.  I had to save the fish so the snakes would not eat them all.  I got a bucket and filled it with water and put the baby fish in it.  I had to carry the fish to a big pond about two or three football fields away from our house.    I remember that the walk to the pond was so hard because the bucket was heavy with water and my hand hurt as the handle dug into my palms.  I had to stop often to rest.  Then fight the weeds to get to the pond.  When I got there, it was such relief to dump the bucket into the water and save the fish.  I made about three or four trips that day saving those babies.

We saw the water snakes as the enemy of the creek. This was before we understood the balance of nature. Eating the baby fish was just doing a snake’s job.  However, I would don my father’s waiters and grab a shovel.  Then it was off with their heads.  We cleared the snakes from the creek. I cannot believe I did that.  I have had several snake encounters over the years – another blog one day.  I keep thinking that it is all karma for me taking their lives, and it should equal out soon – I hope.

As we grew, the creek became less important, but an event happened that changed it all for my family.  There was a big oak tree that grew at the corner of our property near the creek, and by the tree there was a big metal tube that was used as a bridge for the farmer to traverse to plow the fields behind our house.  Stones surrounded the tube keeping it in place.  The tree had a Tarzan rope swing that we would play on.  All fun!  However, my brother, would climb the tree and throw his coat down and then lie at the bottom of the tree and say help me, I fell.  He thought it was so funny.  Timmy was a tease. 

Then, one day as I was feeding our dogs at the coop – the dog kennel – near the creek, I looked up and down came Timmy’s gold hooded jacket trimmed in fake black fur, and this time, he was in it.  He fell about 15 feet, hit the metal tube, and bounced on the stones into the creek.  My mother was watching from the kitchen window and flew out of the house to get Timmy.  She got him out of the creek.  He was unconscious.  She rushed to the car with a neighbor to take him to the emergency room.  I stood there in the swirl that was happening.  Off they went, and I was scared wondering about Timmy. 

Hours later my mother returned.  My father was with her.  I overheard words like fractured skull, concussion, and maybe he could die.  With the morning, Timmy gained consciousness and escaped the worst possibilities.  He did have a bad concussion.  He would have to be careful about any future head injury because it could be fatal for him.   I think his thick winter coat saved the worst of the fall.  The creek was not the same after that.  Some of it was our age, and some of it was the memory of the fall.

In years to come, my own children played in the creek when they came home to visit their grandparents in the summers.  It held the same magic for them.  Then years after that the creek became Terry’s Creek named after a neighbor’s child.  He, too, was in the creek all the time as we were as children.  It is a wonderful playground for children allowing their imaginations to grow, and each new generation of children claimed it as their own.

When my parents downsized and sold the family home, I went to take pictures of the house and of course, the creek. I collect stones from the creek for my parents, my brother, my children, and me.  I made them each a photo album to remember our family time there and a stone to remember the creek.  It was a nice closure to many years of memories.  Now, I do believe the creek actually runs through our hearts and souls and is a part of who we are.  Did you have a creek or a pond in your youth that still flows through you?