For years now, (22 to be exact) there has been an intense war amid my immediate family. Who named the Dibe? (that's me!) You see, my name has quite a history.
Initially it was decided that I would be born an Ann. (After my lovely Grandma, who if nothing else, I wish I shared her temperment, her love, her gratitude and her joy. But I'll settle for her name 'cause that's lovely too!)
Ann after my Mama (Grandma, if you've already forgotten) and then Louise after my mom's middle name and somebody on my dad's side who at one point may or may no have had the name Louise as well. (fact: Mama's (again, Grandma, if you've forgotten) sister (great aunt? Dad's aunt) is named Louise. They call her Lou. At least I wasn't named DiAnne Lou Hall!)
Then my not so lovely piercing scream erupted (2 months early, sorry mom!) and Mom took one look at me and declared "what are you CRAZY she doesn't look like an Ann!"
So, three letters were added. D I E. (Not in that order, 'cause then my name would be DieAnn. And that would be terrible.) I became DiAnne Louise Hall. The 'A' remained capital after Mama, so she would always know that she is part of me and that I would be her namesake.
But, as fate would have it, the other two kids were not down with that. And here's where the war begins.
All my life I've been known as Dibe. (Die - bee) One version of the story goes that Tess, who was 7 at the time, didn't like the name DiAnne, so she named me Dibe. Another version swears that Alex, who was 18 months, couldn't say the name DiAnne. For years the war grew more intense. It was great, I never had to explain the origin of my name around my family, they would do it for me, and passionately, declaring that THEY were the naming party. I just sat back and watched (and listened) to people misspell and mispronounce the name over and over.
Then when the ripe old age of 16 hit, I had a fantastic young women leader who called me up one day.
"Dibe!" She exclaimed.
"Hi! How goes?!" Wondering what we were so excited about.
"Why didn't you tell me you were part Navajo?" She questioned, sternly.
"uh... because I'm not.." I responded, quite confused. "Unless there's a milkman out there who bears a striking resemblence to a 16 year old who is the height of your average 9 year old.." (I'll have you know, now I'm the average height of an 11 year old... at 22. I'm cool.)
"No, but I was watching the history channel --"
"I don't care what people told you, I am NOT old enough to be on the history channel!" I exclaimed.
She laughed. "No no no, your name. Dibe. It's Navajo! It means little lamb!"
"Oh... Well that's awfully fitting... blasted short little legs..." I muttered.
"So.. you're not Navajo?"
"Not that I'm aware of" I said, a little disappointed.
"So where'd you get the name?" Suspicious. I would have been too
"That's a mighty good question, one I don't have an answer to.."
"Well.. it fits!" She concluded.
"Is that a short joke?"
After years, the war was over! Nobody INVENTED (I don't know how to tip the letters over -I was going to say italicize, but then I realized I couldn't spell that word and was a bit embarassed. - so the all caps will have to do to show emphasis) the name, it's Navajo.
Too bad I can't get a scholarship for having a native american name...
I CAN get one for being legally a midget... ahem. a "little person"
I told you, the name was fitting..
Side node: Dibe also means The Bottom. in Turkish. And "Will Allow" in Sanskrit.
