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Roger Rabbits with |
What about Huguette? A beautiful name in that sensuous, unstressed, nasal, French way. Drop the ‘H’ and pronounce the final ‘E’. Ugu-ett-e. Love it. I’m a bit of a Francophile.
What about Aponi – pronounced Ah-pah-nee. A Blackfoot Indian name meaning butterfly. Exotic. Lovely.
Or Sarkr – from the Czech Republic. Pronounced Shar-ker. Princess. There won’t be any other Sarkrs in Year 0…if it’s a girl. What about Bonnie, Persephone, Florence?
I’d been banging on about names for six months – offering a couple of creative options every day for a little bundle about to be delivered half a world away in London. Don’t know why I bothered – each suggestion was rebuffed in a vacuum of silence, a scoff, scorn or outright derision. I didn’t get one name close to the line, let alone across it.
Never liked it!
That reminded me to divorce my own given name after seven decades. Hunter. Never liked it. I was born at a time when, if you called out to Kevin, 10 snotty-nosed, freckly red-haired Catholic kids of Irish descent would come running. Same applied to Graemes, Grahams, or Brians, or Trevors. But they’d be the Proddies.
I just craved to be a Peter – like Rubens the Flemish artist, all dramatic violent and bold. Or guitar-smashing rocker Pete Townshend of the Who, or raconteur Sir Peter Ustinov, or prodigious pisshead Peter O’Toole. I was so enamoured of the name Peter I even called my pet hedgehog who lived under the house Peter.
Peter the Apostle, Peter the Great – a classic timeless name. But I got Hunter – painfully unusual in the 1950s, having to explain that: “Yes, it’s my Christian name”. But nowadays Hunters are as common as colds.
“It’s a dog’s name, isn’t it,” remarked a Redditor during a discussion on the name Hunter. I couldn’t argue with that because recently I wandered out of the factory and heard someone calling my name. I turned to answer and realised I shared my name with a dog. And a dead-ugly one – an Affenpinscher-Chihuahua-cross. The French call Affenpinschers “diablotin moustachu” – which means “mustached little devils”. And “monkey terriers” for their unusual facial appearance. I don’t think that’s me. Moustachioed and simian? I tick only one of those boxes.
And I don’t wish to share a dog’s reputation for being fun-loving, curious, playful, loyal, affectionate, entertaining and moderately good with children. And I don’t pee on lampposts. Still, I am done with Hunter. The Reddit thread settled it.
Listen to this: “The only Hunter I ever met was the scrawniest little twerp. And a total coward”. Well, this Hunter is six feet of aged blubber. Twerpish, annoying – yes, I have been called that. But the bravery has never really been tested.
Close to the bone
And from another Redditor: “Is it just me, or are all the Hunters you come across problematic?” That’s close to the bone. But I think it’s just living with a name like Hunter that makes us problematic. Blame the name-givers. Blame the parents. Don’t blame the bearers.
And: “Why do people give their kids job titles as names – Hunter, Cooper, Carter, Taylor? I’m going to call my first child ‘Webdeveloper’. Fair enough – how about Drainlayer? Or perhaps Checkout? Or something double-barreled like Chicken-Sexer? Or Budtender after someone who assists customers at a legal medical cannabis store? Budtender has a nice euphoric, calming ring, a name you could get hooked on.
Hunter also now transcends gender. Unfortunately. I was in Hamilton when a woman yelled ‘Hunter!’. Now Hunter was probably quite a nice kid, but she didn’t present that way. Three or four years old, straggly unkempt red hair, festoons of pond growth hanging from her nose and a t-shirt that demanded to be forensically tested. Or burnt. I didn’t want to share my name with her. In fact, she can have it. I’m now googling deed poll.
No nickname – phew!
One positive aspect of my name was I escaped a nickname as a kid. I hung with a Shorty, Fatty, Legs – they were the days when body shaming was considered sport and mercilessly funny – and Compass for the kid who flailed his arms 24/7 while looking for true north, Whiffy who had odour issues and would still stink after an acid bath, and Flake for the poor kid who was ravaged by eczema. I remember one day when Arnold’s mother suggested it was unkind to call him Fatty we all wondered why? He was a big unit, a fat unit after all. I got none of that humiliation because everyone obviously thought being a Hunter was burden enough.
According to Department of Internal Affairs statistics Hunter was the 36th most popular boy’s name of 2023 …after all the Noahs, Jacks, Coopers, Leos, Georges, Hugos, Arlos and Beaus, and the odd ugly dog. And it seems I can blame a TV soap, of which, I have not seen one episode. In 2006 ‘Shortland Street’ introduced a character called Hunter McKay. He may as well have been called McDonald, as his became just as popular. Thanks mate!
