Homework...

How I used to hate my name. Why couldn't my mother have called me something normal like David, Mark or Stephen. Why Duncan? My dislike of my name can be traced back to a homework assignment I was given when I was about 12 years old.

The teacher had asked the entire class to research what our names meant. We had a week to do our research before presenting back to the class. Off I rushed after school and bullied my father into driving me to the library that evening. Excitedly, I asked the librarian where I might find a book on the meanings of names and, without waiting for her to finish her directions, I rushed off to where her finger was pointing. I could hardly contain myself as my eyes scanned the shelves.

There it was! The Dictionary of Names. I seized the book and flicked through the pages desperately looking for the entry, Duncan. My fingers wouldn't fly fast enough as they flicked at the page corners. By this point, I think I must have been panting in ecstasy. I was full of anticipation and fit to burst. At last...!

Surely to God, life couldn't be this cruel? My entire world was falling in. I choked back sobs and tears filled my eyes as I read the entry.

Duncan: /'dəŋkən/ male given name and surname; originally Irish Gaelic Donnchadh - Brown Warrior.

Brown Warrior? Brown Warrior!! I was mortified! To me it may as well have translated as Shirt Lifter or Arse Bandit; in my head it sounded the same. It took me years to forgive my mother for dreaming up such a spiteful name for me.