Hello, my name is Bevin. It’s pronounced like Kevin, but with a ‘B,’ instead of a ‘K.’ I only say that because in my twenty three and three quarters years on earth I’ve noticed that people have a really effing hard time pronouncing it. I’ve heard so many bastardizations of my name that I can’t even remember them all. But I do remember a few, so here they are; Bee-vin (the most acceptable mispronunciation), Blevin (close, but you’ve added an ’l’), Devin (“I thought it was just a misprint!”), and Buh-lev-elin (WTF?!)
And once they’ve figured out how to say my name, there seems to be a series of questions I’m subjected to. First, there’s the classic “Is that your first name?” But they usually say it all judgey, with a furrowed brow and a tilted head. Like it couldn’t possibly be my first name unless my parents were playing some cruel joke on me. Another thing people like to ask is “Do you like it?” I don’t like this question. It’s kind of less a question for me, and more of an implication of their feelings towards my name. People also tend to ask where it came from, which is fine, but I feel like most people are named by their parents, no? Unless my parents had, like, sixteen kids before me and by the time they got to the seventeenth they were spent. Like, maybe they let all the other kids put their favorite name in a hat and then just picked one. Or maybe they picked two out and let everyone vote on it. “Well, it’s between ‘Bevin’ and ‘Wasn’tSixteenEnough.’ Eh, I guess Bevin will do.”
There is one thing, though, that people say that they assume I will find most interesting. People love to tell me that they know someone whose name rhymes with mine.
“Bevin? I know a Devin!”
“Shut up! Shut up! That is so crazy! Caroline, did you hear that?! This woman knows a Devin! Joni, come hear so this stranger can tell you the most amazing news you’ve ever heard! Devin, huh? Wow, I’m calling my parents right now! They‘ll never believe this!”
I’m not trying to sound like a jerk, I just wonder what these people are thinking sometimes when they let words out of their mouths.
Don’t get me wrong, having a different name is awesome. Just ask Apple. I wouldn’t want to have the kind of name where when someone yells it out in a crowd a half a million people turn around, thinking you’re talking to them. It actually happens that I went to college with another Bevin, who hung out with some of the same people I hung out with. Every time they would mention her I was like, “What?! Oh. They’re talking about the other Bevin.” (I didn’t mean for that to come off sounding like she’s my nemesis, but it did anyway.)
The real bitch about having a different name is that you can never get a novelty item with your name on it. One Christmas someone in my department at work gave everyone else in the department a little ornament with their name on it. Mine said “You’re Special.” Which, don’t get me wrong, I totally am, but it was a little bit of a bummer. I really love my name, but I’ll never be able to find a pen, or a pack of stickers, or a bike license plate with “Bevin” on it. I dream of a day when I walk into a novelty shop and find a mug that has my wonderful moniker on it. “Bevin,” it’ll call to me. “Bevin, I’ve been waiting for you.”
Until that day, I will continue to wear my Greetings and Readings name tag around my house. Even though I am no longer employed there.
