I read that Nicole Richie and Joel Madden named their new baby boy, Sparrow James Midnight.

For anyone over the age of twenty five and highly literate, do not feel badly if you have no idea who these people are.  Suffice it to say, they are cogs in the Hollywood media machine with little talent other than garnering tabloid attention.  I realize this speaks volumes about me that 1) I came across this fact during my internet travels and 2) that I am not too embarrassed to share said fact.  But, it got me thinking about today’s name game and what we do to our children.

Growing up as a young child of the seventies, the given names of my friends were, for the most part, entirely bland and formulaic.  With a few notable exceptions, the parents within my little community refrained from wandering too far off the reservation as far as naming their children.  There were plenty of Davids and Marys, Marks and Amys, Johns and Susans.  Middle names were cast but rarely referenced.  Unless in the kind of trouble that warranted a call from the police or an angry guidance counselor, almost no one was addressed by their first and middle names.  None of us came from families with that kind of social patina; descendants from the Mayflower we were not.  The age of celebrity one- upmanship in the name department had not gone viral.   There were no Farhquars or Pipers, no Sparrows to beat senseless in the school yard.

There were plenty of kids who had issues but how they were named was not one of them.   Sure, there was the random Smith or Brent, saddled with a last name in lieu of a first and bringing to mind connotations of men who summer on the Vineyard always with gin and tonic in hand.  Beyond that, there were no Averys or Aubreys, Madisons or Heaths.  No one was named after a season, a comic book character, an exotic destination in which they were conceived, or item of fruit.

The expectations of a William or a Michael to the outside world are ostensibly the same.  Neither name screams Supreme Court judge or FBI watch list candidate.  There is no sexual ambiguity.  Your child can decide on his own if he wants to be a jock, effeminate homosexual or somewhere in between.  There is no baggage to attach immediately out of the womb.

This is not to say there is no utility in giving a child a unique moniker.  Some of the more extreme names given to children of the stars are a lesson in a Marketing 101 branding project.  Sylvester Stallone named his child Sage Moonblood, a heartfelt reference to his Rambo days, no doubt.  Jermaine Jackson, brother of Wacko Jacko, labeled his child Jermajesty.  How does one introduce this child with a straight face?  "Here is Jermajesty.  We are thinking interior designer or drag queen when he grows up.  Or, he can always follow in his uncle's footsteps."  Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter is Apple in keeping with her holistic, whole foods, colon cleansing image.  If only Martha Stewart had jumped on this train when she had a chance.

Cardamom anyone?

(Find more of Jen at her website, WHEN PIGS FLY.)