My Name Is Gregory
I also accept Greg.
Today I’d like to talk about my first name for a change.
I don’t think I have ever introduced myself as Greg, nor have I ever written my name as Greg. I use my full name on everything. It’s on all of my social media profiles. It’s on every paper I ever wrote in school. I sign my full name. Look at the top of this newsletter. In my mind, I’m a Gregory. I think like a Gregory, I feel like a Gregory, and I act like a Gregory. And yet, I could count on one hand the number of people who actually call me Gregory. So how did we get here?
When I meet someone, the initial exchange usually goes something like this:
“Hi, I’m Gregory.”
“Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Greg or Gregory?”
I often scratch my head at this point because I can’t figure out why someone would introduce themselves by a name they don’t wish to be called.
“Hi, my name is Lula.”
“Nice to meet you, Lula.”
“Actually, I prefer Frank.”
When these situations came up in the past, I would simply reiterate that I preferred Gregory, which often took people by surprise. I could see the wheels spinning in their heads as they anticipated the mental acuity they would need to muster in order to keep track of these unforeseen extra syllables. Inevitably, our next exchange would go something like this:
“So Greg, where are you fro—sorry, I mean Gregory.”
“It’s okay.”
My laissez-faire response to the minor transgression would apparently leak into the offender’s subconscious because before long, they would be calling me Greg every time, sans apology.
After witnessing this pattern repeat throughout my life, it occurred to me one day that almost everyone I knew was calling me Greg, in spite of never having received my explicit permission to do so. Then I had a second thought…Do I care? To which, the answer is no. It does not bother me one iota when people call me Greg. In fact, consistent field testing has demonstrated that I will respond to any mention of the name Greg within a 100-foot radius.
One would assume that this newfound acceptance of my unsolicited nickname would have made things easier for me. Tragically, this has not proven to be the case. These days when I meet new people, it usually goes something like this:
“Hi, I’m Gregory.”
“Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Greg or Gregory?”
“Either one is fine.”
“But which do you prefer?”
“You can call me Greg.”
“But is that what you want to be called?”
“Well it’s what I’m going to be called.”
“This is your name! You should be called what you want to be called!”
“Okay fine, call me Gregory.”
“I will!”
“Great. Glad that’s settled.”
“So Greg, where are you fro—sorry, I mean Gregory.”
“It’s okay.”
I suppose if I really wanted to make my life simple, I would just adopt Greg as my name in all of my verbal and written communication. Gregory would be reserved exclusively for my dealings with the state of California and the IRS. Yet somehow I just can’t bring myself to do that. The day that I completely give up on Gregory will be the day a part of my soul dies. (And life has already killed off several parts of my soul, so I can’t afford to lose any more!)
Still confused about where I stand on my name? Consider Robert De Niro. If you’ve ever seen an interview where any of his colleagues talk about him, it’s always Bob.
“Bob was a joy to work with.”
“Bob is one of the great actors of our time.”
“Bob likes black women.”
But you’re never going to see a poster for a movie starring Bob De Niro. Not even for Dirty Grandpa. If you know him personally, you can call him Bob. But to the rest of the world, he’s Robert.
And I’m Gregory. But if you know me, you can call me Greg.*
*Unless you’re one of the few who already calls me Gregory. You’ve been grandfathered in, and you must continue to call me Gregory. You know who you are.