What's In a Name

Elyse McInerney — What’s In a Name?

Are we ready to welcome to the stage our first storyteller for the second half? It’s Elise! Ever since I can remember, I have hated my surname. McInerney, so nasal and so many consonants just banging up together. In primary school, I would cringe through roll calls as teachers would fumble over it. Elyse McKinney, Elyse McKernie, Elyse McKinnery. In high school, when I’d stand in front of the mirror using my water bottle as a makeshift Academy Award, I just couldn’t stretch the fantasy far enough to imagine them ever calling out a name as inelegant as McInerney at the Oscars. I’ve had to spell it out for countless receptionists and customer service representatives. And people I’ve been friends with for years will turn around and ask, how do you say your last name again? And so I just swore I would change it as soon as I could find a suitable alternative.

My mother’s maiden name presented an equally undesirable option, Brunt. Elise Brunt also didn’t have the ring that I was looking for. And so I tried different pop stars and actresses, Elise Spears. Elise Aguilera, Elise Kidman or Elise Roberts. I tried my favorite authors, Elise Austin or Elise Bronte, but none ever felt right enough to stick and justify all of that paperwork. And as I got older, my surname took on some additional baggage. My parents divorced when I was 12 and my mother quite reasonably chose not to keep her ex-husband’s surname. And after the divorce, my relationship with my father deteriorated pretty quickly. We had a lot of counseling during my teens, but nothing ever really got better. And any time a counselor said something that my dad didn’t like, we’d move on to the next one.

And every effort to try and repair the relationship started to feel like another scoring match of who hurt who more and whether certain acts of kindness could somehow balance out acts of harm. As I got into my 20s, I found myself in a cycle of just never-ending hurt where every cut just made it harder and harder to heal the damage done. And so one day, I made the really difficult decision to cease all contact with my dad. And in doing so, I lost my connection to my extended McInerney family too. And so… The name McInerney started to hurt a lot more than just my ears, but my heart a little bit too. I felt set adrift and I had to figure out what it meant to have a name that linked me to a father and a family that I now didn’t feel like I belonged to.

Shortly after I’d ceased contact with my dad, his 60th birthday was approaching. And while I knew that I’d made the right and the necessary decision, It didn’t make it easy in practice, and I hadn’t quite figured out what to do with big events and milestones like this. I was the one who decided to step away from the relationship, yet it felt like I was the one in exile. And the thought of sitting at home while my other siblings and my extended family gathered without me was deeply painful. And so I decided that if I couldn’t be part of the celebration, I would treat myself to an adventure so far away that I wouldn’t feel the pain so deeply. And so I booked myself a tour across Ireland. And I’d always wanted to visit Ireland. Growing up, I’d love the stories of magic and mythology. I loved the music. And the idea of sitting in a cozy pub corner with a pint and a book amongst those sprawling green hills felt like it was just what I needed, like the travel equivalent of a big hug.

And even though my line of McInerneys hadn’t lived in Ireland for generations, there was something soothing about the idea of visiting a place that had once been home to my family. And when I arrived in Dublin, I saw a sign with my name on it, and the man holding it said, you’re Elise McInerney. And I was almost in shock at how easily it just rolled off his tongue. No stammering, no awkward pauses. and just a sing-song lilt that made it sound almost pretty. And I did all the touristy things. I stared in awe at the Cliffs of Moher and I kissed the Blarney Stone. I drank a pint of Guinness at the Guinness Brewery and had a whiskey at the Jamison Distillery. I wandered the streets of Dublin and Limerick and Galway. And I felt a sense of peace wash over me as I sat in the bus, blasting the Coors and Cranberries on my headphones, watching those green hills roll by.

And as we’re getting to the end of the tour, After a big day of sightseeing, I woke up from a nap on the bus and I grabbed my phone to see how long away we were from the hotel. And when I looked at the map, I realised we were about to turn into a village called Six Mile Bridge, which I recognised as the village that my line of McInerneys were from. And I was surprised to feel this real sense of gravity and reverence as the view outside the window changed from paddocks to a little row of houses and some old colourful buildings along narrow roads. And then I saw in faded blue paint on an old pub the word McInerney’s. And I felt an unexpected prickle of tears in my eyes to see my name up there, to see my name which in this pocket of the world was on pubs and shop fronts and in churches and cemeteries.

My name which meant that somewhere in the world there was a place where I belonged. even if it sometimes felt far away. And maybe that was a worthwhile trade for a lifetime of correcting spelling and mispronunciation. Thank you.