If you know my family, parts of this site are likely rather confusing. Everyone knows my grandmother was Jolene, but she's listed here as Clara. My father's name is Chris, here, he's Micheal. My aunt Kathy? Gerri. My uncle Jay? Jonathan. My great-grandmother Marie's name is actually Goldene, my grandfather Robert is known to many of his relatives as Gerry, and my adoptive great-great-grandfather (and my biological great-great-uncle) Clifford is actually named Oliver (and his brother Clement, my actual g-g-grandfather, is really named Milton...). Honestly, I could go on all day with this list. For whatever reason, both sides of my paternal family have a tendency to ditch their first names in favour of their second. Even I, though I now use my first name, went through a phase in elementary school where I insisted on being called Joy. 

If you're wondering where this post is going...well...nowhere. I am simply amazed, on occasion, at the unspoken, unnoticed traits that are passed down from generation to generation. While each individual would undoubtedly give you an entirely different reason for doing so, it still remains that they all chose their middle name over their first. It is these little quirks, these curious commonalities, that keep me perpetually fascinated with my family's story. 


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