Sydney aka Billie

When I was about ten, I went through a period of calling myself “Billie.” I thought that I should have been named William after my father rather than Sydney after a great-grandfather and a great-uncle. Never mind that their names were spelled Sidney-with-an-‘i’ and mine with-a-‘y’ was supposed to be the feminine version. Billie would have been so much easier.

For one thing, it was during that period of time that I got my first bike. It was my fondest desire to get one of those little personalized license plates for it. I can’t remember if my friends had them or not. I only remember going around the corner to the Variety Store and checking out their supply periodically. And, whenever we were traveling and there was an opportunity, I would check out the souvenir stores for ANYthing with my name on it – coffee mugs, key chains, book plates, you name it.

Of course, there was never a Sydney. Or even a Sidney. And, eventually, I outgrew my bike-riding years and my desire to display my name. I don’t think it was until I was well into adulthood, though, that I really began to like my name, and even to feel somewhat proprietorial about it. Never in all my school years did I meet another Sydney or Sidney. I was the only one and I grew to feel that the name was special rather than odd.

Up Close and Personal

In the 1980s, there came a resurgence of the name Sydney. My first awareness was when my friend Dorothy Huggins called and said she had a new granddaughter with my name spelled my way! I was thrilled and immediately appointed myself Honorary Godmother – a role I loved but was probably not very good at.

Then I began to hear the name more and more but, upon cursory investigation, found that most were spelled differently. Cydney, Sidnee, Cidne, Sydnie – you name it, there was one. And when you added the confusion of all the Cindy, Sindy, Cyndy names, it became somewhat of a nightmare. I’ve taken to introducing myself to people as “Sydney-like-Australia.” Usually they get it, although one person recently said, “When did you come to this country? I don’t detect an accent.”

So, imagine my surprise yesterday when our houseguests Dale and Sally Webber arrived with a personalized bottle of Coca Cola for me! With my name spelled correctly and everything! They said they found it in a bin of bottles, but no Dale, no Sally. What are the odds, I ask you? One in a thousand according to Coca Cola’s website:   We’ve introduced over a thousand names to take the place of our iconic logo on Coca?Cola, Diet Coke and Coke Zero products this summer.

I’m resisting the urge to go directly to the nearest souvenir shop and look for that little license plate of my childhood. Maybe the tide has turned at last.