In early America, settlers often named their children for attributes and virtues they valued. Names such as Grace, Patience, Chastity, and Hope were called out on the first day of school. Alas, such virtues are buried treasure today.
Today names symbolic of our society have yet to emerge, but I have some nominations:
Cleavage, Tattoo, and Pierce. ( Please note that the original title for this essay was Cleavage, Tattoo, Pierce, Thong, and Butt Crack, but I had so many hits on it, I wanted to weed out those interested in Butt Cracks).
Cleavage is a lovely name for girls. Thanks to the fashion industry’s monetary greed and total disregard for anything subtle, young girls, middle-aged girls, and even old girls are wearing low-cut tops, sweaters, dresses, and coats to breakfast at McDonald’s.
Here is a scenario from early in my teaching career: One big-breasted student named Brenda came in showcasing a tight-shirt emblazoned with two large toilet paper rolls placed in perfect sync with her rather large chest. Across the shirt was written
Please Don’t Squeeze the Charmin. In those days, I was able to jettison her out of the classroom and home to change her clothing, hoping to provide a dandy lesson in fashion judgment. To paint her room —fine. To wear to school—not fine, not appropriate.
Today, we have Cleavage, age 16, trolling at the mall, the movie theatre, the local pizza parlor for attention. She has recently shopped at Abercrombie and Fitch or Wet Seal and is decorating herself in the type of clothing that used to be hip for women walking a busy corner street in lower Manhattan or South of Market in San Francisco. The part of her brain which sends those all important “I’m OK messages” has short-circuited and keeps repeating, Unless you show your boobs (and I sure hope you have some), you won’t be attractive to guys. Cleavage is already considering a breast augmentation.
Tattoo used to be a name reserved for guys in the Navy or gang members. Now Tattoo is a lovely name for either sex. Forget any religious notion that Your Body is Your Temple. Nowadays, kids named Tattoo sport “body art” proudly and profusely. Swirls of foamy ocean splash out from under collars; devils with pitchforks and psychedelic modern art blobs ooze down calves; manic Labrador retrievers leap across scapulas and meander down rotator cuffs. Tattoo believes that her body is a canvas. There is only one little problem: attending that wedding with Cleavage. Somehow that Labrador retriever across her shoulder doesn’t quite meld with the pink taffeta dress. Oh well.
Now Pierce is a name only to be given to the hardiest of souls. Pierce is edgier than either Cleavage or Tattoo. Large pieces of steel, wrought iron, or rebar have been wedged through eyebrows, punched through tongues and lips, or filleted into belly buttons. Dollops of pure silver, maybe 3 carets in size, have been neatly arrayed down ears. Pierce may be ahead of Tattoo on the I.Q. test, however. Removing all of the heavy and light metal is only a yank away. Edgy stores such as Noah’s Bagels, Costco, and Trader Joe’s admire Pierce and Tattoo when hiring.
Naming our children is serious business.
Cheri Outspoken Block Judgmental Sabraw
