Naming children is a complicated business.
My parents, Louise Pergolini and Owen Tucker, named me within minutes of birth. They had plenty of time to go pick out some names regardless of what sex I was born. But they had a method for female names — well, sort of.
My first name is Mary Louise. That’s two unhyphenated, spaced words. Not Mary followed by a middle name of Louise, and definitely not a hyphenated name as in Mary-Louise. Just Mary Louise.
We were six children in total—a boy, followed by five girls. I am the third of six and the second girl. The family joke was that there were so many of us that we couldn’t afford hyphens.
Our mother, Louise, was the daughter of Italian immigrants to Philadelphia. She was born in 1926 and was Catholic. While studying to be a nurse, about age 20, she learned from her doctor that she might not be able to have children. One of her ovaries had been removed due to cysts; the other was not functioning at capacity.
My mother’s generation of Catholic women were taught to have great faith in Mary, the ‘Blessed Mother’ and the mother of Jesus Christ. Their duty was to emulate Mary and be selfless mothers. The church encouraged large families to fill the pews with the faithful.
It helped that my dad Owen was at least a Catholic (“even if he isn’t Italian”, according to some crusty ole great aunts) and he also wished for a large family.
After her medical diagnosis, Louise prayed a ‘novena’ to Mary. A novena (after the Latin word for the number nine) is nine days of prayer for a particular intention. She prayed to be able to fall pregnant, and as an extra sign of her absolute faith, she promised that if she had a healthy baby girl, she would name her Mary.
In 1951 Owen and Louise married, then, as directed by the priest, went forth to propagate. In December 1952, the first babe appeared. In the Italian tradition, the first son must take the name of the father’s father. So our Liverpool-born grandfather was honoured with a grandson named George.
Next, it was a girl in 1952 called Mary Ann. My diplomatic mother, not knowing if she would have more children, offered a nod to her mother-in-law (Marie) and her mother (Anna) with the Anglo version of their names.
Fourteen months and a day after Mary Ann, I decided to make an appearance. At this stage, the method got complicated.
Surely, my mother must have thought she would not be fortunate enough to have even more children with her medical history. She could have named me anything. She had fulfilled her obligation to the Blessed Mother; the grandmothers had been pleased. I could have been Giovanna, the female version of Giovanni, our Italian grandfather. All four grandparents being honoured would have made Louise a legend.
Then again, maybe she figured there would be more of a heavenly reward if she had one more ‘Mary Something’. If the Mary part was non-negotiable owing to that novena promise, what could she add? Why not name this one after herself? Keep it traditional. So, Mary Louise, it was.
In time, the church-approved rhythm method allowed for another three children and — you guessed it — all girls.
By now, Owen and Louise were on a roll with the league of Mary; they named the next two Mary Elizabeth and Mary Margaret. They were honouring a great aunt Elizabeth and a family friend Margaret. When number six child came along, we older siblings insisted that if it were a girl, we would call her Joni, after the singer and songwriter Joni Mitchell, who by 1969 had released her first two albums (which we adored). So, Mary Joan, it had to be.
Imagine the cruel joke and confusion at school, on government records and in the general community when faced with five ‘Mary Somethings’ in the same household. And when we acquired a female puppy one Christmas, there was no choice but to name her Mary Christmas.
As it happens, we rarely use the Mary bit except on official documents. To one another and our closest friends, we girls are Annie, Lou, Beth, Peg and Joni (and Chrissy dog). The miracle babies of our loving parents.
There’s a saying: 'You can take the girl out of the church, but you can’t take the church out of the girl’. Some of us Marys don’t follow our parent’s faith. However, I suspect we secretly hope that divine intervention exists and that it will keep us all from going straight to hell.
I’m curious as to how other people got their names. What motivates parents when choosing a name for their child? Let me know in the comments if you’d like. And please, don’t call me Mary. ;)
P.S. I do not intend to insult or demean anyone’s faith with this essay. We were raised to be strong, resourceful, independent thinkers who show respect for all.