My middle name is Margaret.
I said it.
But, like Junie B. Jones and her ‘B’ for “Beatrice,” I’ve never particularly liked Margaret. I always liked the sound of Emily Kathryn, or “Emmy Kate” for short (my parents’ original plan). But Grandma was in the hospital when I was born and they didn’t think she would make it.
She lived. But I still became Margaret.
I used to tell this story with such disdain. Emmy Kate seemed like a cool name –– why the hell did they have to switch it to “Margaret” at the last minute?
…but I don’t really mind anymore. I’m proud that I am a “Margaret.”
Before dementia really began kicking in, Grandma and I did a lot together. She loved brushing my hair and always –– always –– conducted fingernail inspections. “Let me see your nails,” she’d say when I dropped by for a visit. And –– sorry, Grandma! –– she wouldn’t be too pleased with their appearance right now.
I don’t plan on telling the Emily Kathryn story anymore. I’m happy with Margaret.