The Very Beginning--My Name

I will start this story from the very beginning, or at least my beginning, I was born on a Tuesday in late November in St. Elizabeth Hospital In Utica, New York State, in Oneida County, on November 22, 1949, to be exact, at about 6:40 p.m. If you're really interested in how long I was or how much I weighed, That information is on my "official" birth certificate in my lockbox. I weighed 7 pounds and a little, that much I know, and I was at least 20 inches long. That's all I can tell you.

I was the first child of Floyd Donald Samson and Mabel (Mae) Malvola Tolley Samson. The major significance of my birth to the Samson family in general was that I was the first female born into the Samson family since my father's long-deceased baby sister who was born in 1916. My birth was cause for great celebration in the family. So much so that my father wanted to name me Rosemary, the same name as his deceased baby sister. Daddy thought that this would honor her memory.

Now this presented a problem. My father's mother, my Grandmother Rose, was half Irish. In Irish families, babies are NEVER named after someone who has died an untimely death or died tragically. It is considered to be bad luck. Obviously my father had not been paying much attention to Irish superstitions and traditions when he was growing up. So Rosemary as a name for me was not to be. But my father thought he had a solution. Why not name me Rosemarie? My father really liked Rose because that was his mother's name, and he thought that using Marie was different enough but still had the "flavor" he was looking for in a name. But, alas, my grandmother did not see it that way and felt that Rosemarie was too close to Rosemary to be given to me. My poor father! Back to the drawing board for him. So he decided on Marie. That was just fine with everyone in the family--except for my mother. Her objection was that my father had a cousin whose name was Marie Samson. Even though Marie was engaged and would soon be married and have a new last name, my mother felt that there would be confusion between two Marie Samsons. My father and his family didn't even see the other Marie very often, but my mother wouldn't back down. My mother liked the name Diane, a name she had found in a movie magazine while she was in labor. She felt it was very modern and a very popular name. (Indeed it was popular. In my Kindergarten class of 90 students at St. John the Evangelist School, there were 4 Dianes!) My grandmother protested, because she thought people would call me the nickname Di, (which they did) and because it sounded like an African-American name, Dinah. She also wasn't happy because it wasn't a saint's name. But my father would stand up to mother or go against her wishes, so she won the first of many battles concerning me, and my name became officially Diane Marie Samson.

I have never liked my name. From the time I was little, even before I knew the story about my name, I have never like Diane. I've never seemed to "fit" my name. Diane just really isn't me. I don't know why, but it just isn't. It worked fine for my mother, who would call upstairs to wake us up--"Di! Pat! Jo!"--but it just wasn't me. To my ears, Diane Samson sounds strange. When I was about 3 or 4, I even attempted to pass off Diane as the name of my doll and I would then be Marie, but mt mother would not allow that. Even though one of her own sisters used her middle name instead of her given first anme, she wouldn't let me do that. I think it offended her that I didn't like the name she had picked out for me.

Later, when I was confirmed in the Roman Catholic Church, there is a tradition of adding a saint's name to your name as your patron saint. I chose Catherine, which was my great-grandmother's name (my grandmother Rose's mother's name). I also liked that name because my grandmother was devoted to the Miraculous Medal. Supposedly the Blessed Mother appeared to St. Catherine Labouree and told her to have this medal struck with the words, "Oh Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee." So I chose Catherine.

I finally was able to adopt my middle name Marie as my name as an adult when I was about 55 years old, after my mother and father had passed away and I was living in Texas. I still use both names--Diane Marie--when I communicate with my relatives because they are so used to my name. But when I'm introduced to new people, I always use what I consider my real name--Marie.

Sometimes It takes a long time to become the person you truly are. As you read my stories, you may see this theme pop up time and again. I am still in the process of becoming, I think.