Tuesday, March 20, 2012

When I was 7, my family moved from Arizona to Utah. I remember our house smelled like old people for the first little while, probably in part because the house was built in the 70's and also, the previous owners were of a more elderly generation. Actually, they were probably only in their 50's, but to a 7 year old, 50 might as well be 90. 

So, I was in the second grade at the time. It was October, I believe, so school had already started and I was jumping in at kind of an awkward time. I remember being mortified in class when the teacher had us using parentheses. I had no idea what they were- we hadn't covered them yet at my previous school. I was really confused by her explanation and ended up using them like ((this)) instead of "this." She then pointed out how wrong I was in front of the whole class and laughed. It was shenanigans like this over the course of the next month or so that ended up with my mom going to the school and demanding that I be moved to a different class. The day before I was moved, my soon-to-be-ex teacher pulled me into a closet where she proceeded to cry and hug me. And that was the first time I experienced to joy of Karma.

One great thing about changing classes was that I was no longer in the same class with my name twin. Yep, there were two Megan Wrights in the second grade- why they decided to put us in the same class, I will never understand. As the newer of the two MW's, I was asked to change my name on my school records so that the admins could differentiate between the two of us. The name I was thereafter known us upon the records of the Jordan School District was Meggie. Yep, Meggie. I hated it. It followed me around like a curse, even into Middle and High school. 

I was 14 when we moved to Oklahoma and I was so excited when I got to Middle school and was able to just be Megan. I had one year of having my name all to myself before I entered High school and found out that there was another Megan Wright in the grade ahead of me. I was mistakenly called to the principle's office on multiple occasions, mostly for disciplinary action, although onetime a whole bouquet of roses arrived for her and I contemplated taking them all for myself. Getting called out of class didn't bother me- any excuse to get out of class, right?- but the one thing that really burned me happened during my Sophomore year. 

I worked really hard that year to join as many clubs and organizations as possible- I was in choir, orchestra, drama, service club, spanish club, and even chess club (I still have no idea how to play- I joined only so that I could spend a few precious minutes each week in close proximity to one of my high school crushes). I know there were more because when all was said and done, I ended up on like, 15 different pages of my yearbook. Unfortunately, the OTHER MW ended up with the credit for most of those pages and I ended up with only a few pages correctly attributed to me. It's taken 10 years, but I think I'm finally over it. Or not. 

The moral of this story is this: please, don't call me Meggie. I like Megan or, if you really want to endear yourself to me, Meg is even better. 



  1. Can I just call you "M" now? That sounds chic and sophisticated. By the way, if I ever called you Meggie, you have my apologies. Don't think I ever did, but just covering my bases. Love you!

  2. But... but... but, I've called you Meggie Doll since the day you were born. Are you saying that I've scarred you, too? Sheesh, the things your adult children tell you. Well, I have one thing to say about that....
    Karma. Oh yeah, when you least expect her.