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The library was the half-way point of my long walk home from school and it drew me in because it had a few things going for it that home didn’t. No one knew me and it was quiet. It also had wall-to-wall; stained, crummy carpeting leftover from the fifties, great for a floor loving teenager to curl up on while randomly plucking books. My aisle of choice ended at a wall, making it a nook with a backrest. It was on one of these days that I found the book.
The few times I was called my given name, Margaret, I wore white: baptism, first communion and confirmation. My nickname, Peggy, was another thing. On the first day of school the teacher handed Peggy to me printed as a place card to use at the front of my desk for easy identification. I looked at the large, neat letters. I scanned the other desk names: Patty, Debby, Cindy, Trudy, Amy…Then I turned completely around to look at the desk behind me and read “Courtney Whitney III .” Wow, what a name! Then, by recess, someone had already called me Pegleg. Great, I thought. Off to a humiliating start. By the time the teacher said Peggy in front of the whole class, I sat cringing in my wooden seat with clenched fists. I was defined by something that felt like an itchy collar.
But can a label like a rubber stamp change after fourteen years? Hmmm. Well, I did have two neighborhood examples to use: Mary Beth McHugh dropped the Mary in her name around the same time her brother, Tony, switched his name to Tommy. Ah, yes. Nothing beats having hard evidence when presenting your case. Even though I disliked my name, seeing so many versions of it in a book was empowering; especially when attached to formidable women like: Margaret Bourke-White, Margaret Atwood, Margaret Mead, Margaret Chase-Smith, Margaret Sanger…And that doesn’t even include saints and royals. (Not that I can relate, but it’s an honor to be in the club.) The book also clarified my family’s presumption that Peggy and Margaret came as a two-for-the-price-of-one, pre-packaged set. And, it finally answered a question I was asked to the point of irritation, “Why is Peggy a nickname for Margaret? (It’s a stretch. The “p” in Peggy is from the Latin version, Margarita, which means pearl.)
