Peter sometimes points out that we tend to do things with an extra level of intensity. Sometimes that's intentional–when he runs 16 miles in the sand, for instance, or when I decide I need to make sure that unusual words aren't repeated more than twice in the course of my book. But we also seem to attract intensity. Like our cat George, who has the loudest purr you've ever heard (even the vet concurs) and who was recently diagnosed with hyperthyroidism (that's a whole different $600 saga). Not only do we have a cat with hyperthyroidism, but the vet noted that his thyroid is ten times bigger than any other hyperthyroidic cat she's ever seen. Of course it was.
Similarly, when we were 28 and decided it was time to get pregnant, we didn't just have a baby. We had a baby with Down syndrome. The same experience as all the other young couples we know. Except more intense, at least initially.
And then there's my name. It also requires some explanation and is, you know, like other names except a little unusual. And I'm starting to get a few requests for interviews, and some of you sometimes e-mail me, so you might as well know that Julia is not my middle name or my maiden name. Rather, I have two first names. You see, three years before I was born my parents moved to a small town in North Carolina. They, two born and bred Yankees from Connecticut, must have gotten carried away by their newfound love for all things southern. Thus, I ended up with two of my great-grandmothers' names–Amy and Julia. Standardized test forms have always proved a puzzle for me. I sometimes wish they had at least hyphenated it or even smushed it together to read Amyjulia. Even in the south, I often had to explain that I wasn't just being formal when I introduced myself. No, Amy Julia is a double name. You're supposed to use all four syllables when you say it (or, as my fifth grade teacher would have it, all five syllables with a heavy drawl).
When we moved north when I was ten, I realized early on that most people in Connecticut, or at least most sixth graders, can't handle the concept of a double name. Soon enough I was "AJ," and I stayed AJ for years. By the time I was in college, many of my friends didn't know about the double name or the southern roots. Many of them shortened my name even further, and to this day I get emails from some of my closest friends and family members with the greeting, "Hi Age . . . "
But when I was married to Peter, more than one person pointed out that "AJ Becker" sounds somewhat like a fighter pilot or racecar driver. We were moving to Virginia, and I hoped that the double name might find some sympathy. So I returned to my roots and have been Amy Julia to most people ever since.
I'm still happy to answer to AJ. My husband and dearest friends still often call me Age. But Amy Julia is my lovely, somewhat unusual, and somewhat intense name. I guess it fits me.
