My maternal grandmother’s given name was V. Marie_______. She hated her first name. So much so that when she was old enough she went to the local courthouse and had her first and middle names legally switched. She became Marie V.______.
To the best of my knowledge only my mom, my dad, my uncle, (mom’s half brother ) and his wife knew what the V. stood for and they were not going to share that information. No one wanted to be the one to reveal the horrible terrible name that started with V.
As teenagers and younger adults I and my two younger brothers would occasionally ask our mom just to see if her stance had changed-it never wavered. Finally we got to the point where we would simply ask Grandma herself what her middle name was or what the V stood for. The response was always the same; she would exclaim, “Ugh!” shudder and shake her head “no.” We loved it! Finally it got to the point where we would simply tell her, “you know, when you die, the first thing anyone is going to say is ‘What’s her middle name?’ She wouldn’t cave.
I was working at the local hospital as the secretary for nutrition services when my grandma was admitted for observation and then placement into a nursing home. After my shift I went upstairs to check in on her and see how she was coming along. She was definitely confused but doing okay. A very effeminate man walked into the room and said, “hello dear.” Grandma snapped at him, “Well it’s about time you showed up! They told me you had gone home for the day.” The man replied, “Oh honey, I’m not the doctor, I’m your nurse.” Grandma snapped back, “Nurse?” The man smiled, waved his hand in front of him from his head to his waist and said, as syrupy as possible, “yes, I left the white dress and shoes at home today.” I was dying! He put her in her place, never missed a beat and had a smile on his face the whole time. It was priceless!
Then, as was required, he asked her for two identifiers. He suggested her birthday and her name. I jumped at the chance to totally take advantage of her confused state. (Yes, shame on me but the curious child inside me won out) I quickly said, “Yeah grandma, tell him what your middle name is!” I was silently giddy. The nurse was perfect! He took my lead and ran with it. “What’s your middle name?” The response was still the same. “Ugh!” and a shudder. “Oh, it can’t be that bad, what is it?” And then it happened…Grandma caved! “Virgie, Ugh! It’s terrible.” The nurse replied, “Aww, that’s a beautiful name.” And proceeded with his work. I was more excited than a kid on Christmas. I skipped out of there and went home knowing I had gotten the answer to the life long question; What does the V stand for?
Fast forward a few weeks and one evening I get a phone call from my youngest brother. He was calling to ask what Grandma’s middle name was. I instinctively asked, “did she die?” (also in that fraction of a second I wondered why I hadn’t heard first if she had) He said, no, they were visiting our middle brother and they were sitting around talking and it came up. So I told them how I took advantage and found out what the V stood for. We all felt better for knowing our grandmother’s middle name. When she died a few days later no one asked what the V stood for.
My Patio 