So I’ve been asked lately about my name, as no one believes it’s real: Abbey Hawk Sparrow… but the first years don’t seem so real themselves… Apparently my particular configuration of folded proteins absorb memories more abstractly than most, as I am able to recall clearly early events in my life, from the time I was early as 2, which is handy given that was my allotted parental time. So yes, it’s real… yes it’s on my birth certificate.
But then, the plot thickens: Being a scrawny outsider socially, and an up and comer within the Jehovah’s Witness congregation, with a father who had quite an errr…. infamous reputation and living with my grandparents I didn’t exactly fit anywhere. As an aside, I would just like to note, how insane it is to put a child that young in an environment of manipulative debate, as not only is it impossible to do anything beyond *mimick* conviction, but it also exposes them to the malleability of logical construction and factual analysis, leading me down my current road of generalized skepticism. So there I was suited up in my god gear, but a moniker like ‘abbey hawk’ just couldn’t fit the bill, so I was encouraged by my grandparents to become ‘andrew hawkins’ as it had a much more dignified air. A name that could be pronounced without the shame of remembering the fallen son.
That’s how, for 7 years (6th grade through 12th) I had to endure a name I never wanted and why I still am Andrew for legal purposes. Someday, when it’s convenient, I’ll get it changed back officially. But for now, it’s good enough that I simply use it.