Wishing you a merry my last name.
Minus the "n."
Add an "s."
Or to draw it out (pardon any noncompliance with Uncommonly Corny, I mean Common Core math standards): Merry Christman - n + s = Merry Christmas!
You might have noticed that, yes, my surname is very close to a major holiday happening in two days.
If you haven't noticed, perhaps it's because I never handed you my credit card for a purchase. ("Hey, your last name is almost Christmas! And your middle name is Marie. Marie Christman. Like Merry Christmas! Ha ha!")
Or because we didn't go to the same elementary school. ("O, Christman tree! O, Christman tree! Ha ha!")
Or because you're phonics-challenged, thinking it's Christ-man with a long "i" sound instead of the proper short one ... and because we didn't go to the same elementary school. ("So your name is, like, J. Christ, man! Ha ha!)
I've spent my life -- particularly the carol-and-cookie-filled 12th month of the year -- being teased about about my name, answering to Christman stocking and Christman ornament, and getting paranoid, thinking that everyone is talking about me.
The other day a member of our maintenance staff who often brings packages wheeled a giant box into the newsroom, and I heard "Christman." I freaked. Oh, no! How ever was I going to schlep that giant whatever-it-was home?
Oh, wait, he said Christmas -- with an "s" -- whew! It was the newsroom Christmas tree.
My name is surely why I always had a fondness for Suzanne Somers' character on Three's Company. Nickname: Chrissy. Full name: Christmas Noelle Snow.
Joke: Had she been born in June instead of December, she would have been named after Father's Day. Her father would have had to introduce her, "This is my daughter, Father!" Insert snort-filled giggles and '70s sitcom laugh track here. Wait, unlike Chrissy, I really was born in June! What if I had been named Father Christman?
As much as the name has given my family gentle grief over the years, it has given us glory -- or something like that -- too.
Like that one day my parents were doing yardwork on a sweltering summer day in San Antonio, where we lived for four of my childhood years. A door-to-door preacher fell to his knees by our mailbox, loudly exclaiming for God and all the neighbors to hear: "Praise the Lord! You've got His name in yours!"
My parents were so very moved.
Moved to keep the "No soliciting" sign and not put our name on the mailbox at our next house.
But now I've learned to embrace the last name Christman as a blessing. It might not be so much a maturity thing as a social media thing.
A Facebook post from friend Tony: "Jennifer Christman, during this holiday season, if I accidentally tag you in every post about Christmas, it is because every time I type the word 'Christmas,' Facebook tries to tag you. My apologies in advance." (To which I answered: "Same to you during the Tony Awards!")
Several friends gave the thumbs-up, signaling the same phenomenon is happening to them too as they extend their Christman, er, Christmas cheer.
Which means I'm at the forefront of the minds of all 3,865 Facebook friends (and the 20 people I actually know) during the most wonderful time of the year.
Which means more tidings of comfort and joy coming my way.
Which means more presents.
Which makes me this Jennifer a very Marie Christman after all!
Gloria in excelsis deo. Email in inbox-o.
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
What's in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman 'hood.
Style on 12/23/2014