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~This is the Journal of Myriam~*~Here Follows a Record of her Given Gift~

When I was born, my father handed me to my mother so she could name me. He had named her last child and, since they had decided that there would be no more after me, it was only fitting that she should choose my name.

My father tells me that he was impatient to hear her choice, though I cannot imagine Dad impatient at all. He says that my mother has always liked to take her time, especially when she knows that it is annoying someone. He did not have to tell me that, though; everyone knows already.

My mother once told me that while Dad was hopping around with nerves, she was trying to see beyond my wrinkled little face, to what I would be when I was older. She often says that names are important because they leave the biggest impression on a person. You can be a powerful leader, but with a name like, oh, Sally for example, you will have to fight twice as hard to gain respect and support as someone with a name like Katherine. My mother had a few prepared names of course, so now she had to figure out which one was best suited to me, and I to it.

"Myriam. Her name is Myriam."

My father did not like it one bit, but he knew better than to show it. Even then Mom was master of the house, although he was the rock on which it stood.

"It's a beautiful name Dana, but it's a bit long, and Myriam is a little grand for a young girl." He said all this in a whisper and a rush of air from a single breath, wanting some say in this matter.

Mom narrowed her eyes. When she looks that way, she reminds me of a dragon – perhaps she will listen to what you have to say, or perhaps you are about to be turned into crispy bacon (except that bacon comes from pigs, of course). My father shrank from that look, the way he always does, but my mother was thinking, working out a compromise for once.

She looked back at my face and ran her hand over my smooth head.

"We'll call her Myri – no that sounds awful... We'll call her Myra for short."

And that was that.

Description
~This is the Journal of Myriam~*~Here Follows a Record of her Given Gift~

When I was born, my father handed me to my mother so she could name me. He had named her last child and, since they had decided that there would be no more after me, it was only fitting that she should choose my name.

My father tells me that he was impatient to hear her choice, though I cannot imagine Dad impatient at all. He says that my mother has always liked to take her time, especially when she knows that it is annoying someone. He did not have to tell me that, though; everyone knows already.

My mother once told me that while Dad was hopping around with nerves, she was trying to see beyond my wrinkled little face, to what I would be when I was older. She often says that names are important because they leave the biggest impression on a person. You can be a powerful leader, but with a name like, oh, Sally for example, you will have to fight twice as hard to gain respect and support as someone with a name like Katherine. My mother had a few prepared names of course, so now she had to figure out which one was best suited to me, and I to it.

"Myriam. Her name is Myriam."

My father did not like it one bit, but he knew better than to show it. Even then Mom was master of the house, although he was the rock on which it stood.

"It's a beautiful name Dana, but it's a bit long, and Myriam is a little grand for a young girl." He said all this in a whisper and a rush of air from a single breath, wanting some say in this matter.

Mom narrowed her eyes. When she looks that way, she reminds me of a dragon – perhaps she will listen to what you have to say, or perhaps you are about to be turned into crispy bacon (except that bacon comes from pigs, of course). My father shrank from that look, the way he always does, but my mother was thinking, working out a compromise for once.

She looked back at my face and ran her hand over my smooth head.

"We'll call her Myri – no that sounds awful... We'll call her Myra for short."

And that was that.