Why I Hate my Name.

In the second grade, after recess on Fridays, my teacher would have some sort of way for us to make 5 pennies. She would ask the entire class a certain question on Monday, and we had an entire week to find the answer to the question. These questions would be easy, mind you. We were second graders. Questions like, "What is your heritage", or "What is your favorite animal and why". Questions a 7 year old could answer. If the question was right, she would give us 5 pennies. If wrong, no money. The rules were simple.

One Monday, she asked us to find out what our name meant. It was an exciting one, a harder one to figure out. So I went home and asked my dad what my name meant.

'We found your name in a dictionary," he said.

"We liked the name Amber because it sounded cool, and it is a semi-precious rock, just like you. Millions of years ago, in the pre-historic era, mosquitoes were enormous. They would try to drink the tree sap from trees, but the sap would trap the mosquitoes inside, where they remained for millions of years. Over time, the sap would petrify while continuing to preserve the mosquito on the inside. Your name comes from the finished product, the petrified amber. The tree sap, and the color of the sap."

I thought that this was an awesome answer. I loved that the mosquitoes probably had seen dinosaurs, and who doesn't like dinosaurs? This was going to rule.

Friday rolls around and I am practically peeing myself. I was so excited to tell everyone what my name meant! I had the coolest name ever!

'Any volunteers to go first?" My teacher asked, but I was already halfway up to the front of the class room.

And I told everyone word for word what my dad told me.

And I waited to get my 5 pennies.

My teacher had a baby name book to see if our answers were real.

"Close, but not quite." She said.

What?

"Your name means 'golden yellow brown'. Now, who is next?"

I didn't get my 5 pennies.

My name cost me getting money.

I hate my name.