Book of Daze: Middle Name Day

Somewhere between the christening font and the DMV counter lies the cruelest prank ever played on humanity: the middle name. Ostensibly created as a dignified flourish, middle names have in fact been used to torment generations of children and immortalize the poor judgment of their parents. Today we celebrate Middle Name Day, a holiday that reminds us that shame can indeed be hereditary.

A Brief and Unreliable History of Middle Name Day

The custom dates back, according to completely unreliable scholars, to the Council of Toledo in 633 AD, where bishops decided one name was insufficient to keep track of peasants. They decreed that each child should carry an additional label–preferably one embarrassing enough to discourage rebellion. Thus were born such medieval gems as Osbert Chubb-Bucket and Millicent Goatfart. By the Renaissance, the French had refined the practice further, insisting that the middle name honor either a disreputable uncle or a saint no one liked. St. Polycarp, for example, enjoyed a renaissance in baptismal fonts despite never enjoying one in real life.

Americans took the middle name tradition and, in the grand national spirit, made it worse. The 19th century alone saw a parade of horrors: Rufus Picklehatch Johnson, Hester Prunella Bagginsworth, and my personal favorite, Horace Moisture Puddington. Families swore these names bestowed gravitas; in practice they bestowed beatings behind the schoolhouse. Even presidents were not immune. Rutherford Birchard Hayes was lucky his enemies never discovered “Birchard” meant “he who trims shrubs poorly.”

How to Observe Middle Name Day

Today, Middle Name Day encourages us to unearth our own ancestral embarrassments. Dust off that birth certificate and confront the truth: that you are not merely Mary Smith, but Mary “Gertrudina” Smith. That your cousin is not only Kyle Jones, but Kyle “Tupperware” Jones. That somewhere in your family tree lurks a Gladys “Skunkweed” McGillicutty whose spirit haunts every roll call.

The observance is simple. Announce your full legal name on social media. Wait for the laughter. Then drown your shame in celebratory cocktails such as the Tom “Waffles” Collins or the Bloody Gertrude. Remember, your middle name is not just an accident of genealogy. It is a cosmic reminder that we are all ridiculous, and that someday, some distant descendant will mock us for it.

Happy Middle Name Day. May you embrace your inner Moisture.

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