What is in a name?

It seems like these days, people will name their kids ANYTHING. I'm not going to run down a list of examples, but I'm sure you know exactly what I am talking about. My mother named me before I was even conceived; back when I was only a thought. I was named after a woman my mother did not know well. It was a business relationship, but my mother said there was something special about this woman named "Brea": a wonderful personality and a beautiful smile. After several interactions with her, my mother decided that if she ever had a daughter, "Brea" would be her name. And so, I have been spending the last 20 some years correcting people on the correct pronunciation of my name. But I like my name. I wasn’t named after a car or an accident; I was named after a woman that made such a big impression on my mother that she named me after her. This brings me back to my point; I think parents should be more discerning when naming their children. I think there is something in a name, beyond vowels and consonants, to be concerned about. I was named after someone. Depending on the day, I have the personality part down. The smile I know I have. I have been getting compliments on my smile since I was a little girl. I smile ALL THE TIME. In fact, when I was little, my mother would get frustrated because I'd smile my way right through a chastisement: Mom: Brea, why did you do that? Me: **SMILE** Mom: Stop smiling! Why did you do that?! Me: **HUGE SMILE** Mom: Ugh! Just go to your room!! Drove her nuts, but I couldn’t help it, she is the one that named me after a woman who smiles all the time! Looking back it is funny. It wasn’t so funny then; I spent half of my childhood grounded thanks to my smile. Well, “Brea” may be the name written on my birth certificate, but there was another name my mother called me just as often: That's right, Baby Huey. If you don't remember this character, read up. She called me that not for my intellectual capacity, but for my physical strength. I was opening jars, carrying bags, and moving furniture when other kids my age were trying to pry legos apart. I was the only female on my block, so I grew up a bit of a tom boy. Okay, not a bit, a big tom boy. Maybe that explains my aversion to pink (there have been several requests for a blog entry on this topic - it is coming - just haven't gotten in the mood yet). Ok, got a bit sidetracked there. I'd also like to think that calling me Baby Huey has something to do with my inner strength as well. Although, I have moments where I do not feel strong, as in my last blog entry, I think I am strong 90% of the time. I have survived a dead beat father, molestation, rape, a bipolar mother, notorious bad luck, severe depression, a suicide attempt, and countless unhealthy relationships. I think 90% of the time is pretty damn good. So needless to say, I am feeling much better and more in control. Thanks to everyone who was concerned about me on my last post. I didn't mean the "I hate me" comment literally; I like me . . . 90% of the time. So you tell me: What is in a name? Smiley for the Day: