I was born on September 5, 1977. My parents named me Jenny Michelle. My dad liked the “Michelle” part, my mom liked the “Jenny” part, and, apparently, so did the rest of America. Except the rest of America preferred to name their daughters “Jennifer” and call them “Jenny.” I was not so lucky. For most of my life I have wished the presumed “ifer” was part of my name, just because it would make it easier. But, oh well, it could be worse.
So I entered school in the early eighties with many Jennys. I graduated high school with a few, and joined legions at college. As a matter of fact, in my freshman “suite” (which is a fancy name for two cinder-block-walled bedrooms and a one-holer bathroom), there were three of us. Three out of four. The other girl’s name was Arlyce. Lucky!
Now I am in my 30s, and like most of the other Jennys (though many of us have taken to deleting the -ny, I have stubbornly kept mine) I am a wife and a mother.
And, like myriad Jen(ny)s on the interwebz, I am also a blogger. With a unique voice, if not a unique name. I’m Just Another Jenny. But also, I’m really not. And as thousands of Jennys come of age, what I hope for us is that we all find our voices, speak the truth, and mother our children in positive ways that are anything but ordinary.
