Secret Identity

Did you know that for about four years, I was known by another name?  Perhaps you are thinking that I was a spy, or was kidnapped, or was possibly the victim of a falling anvil which resulted in traumatic amnesia.

Nice try, but you would be wrong.

The summer of 1985, I spent a lot of time thinking about my approaching move to college.  I was scared of what I was going to find there, having recently seen Revenge of the Nerds and having heard rumors of Animal House.  I thought college was going to be filled with lots of sophisticated, yet wild and crazy people.  I was not so wild and crazy, nor so sophisticated.  I was in the band, for heaven’s sake.  Fun to me was going out for ice cream after band practice with friends, and I always called home first to let mom and dad know I’d be late.

I knew I’d never fit in, I knew I’d be sitting in my dorm room on Saturday nights, practicing scales, hearing the toga parties going on down the hall, wishing I was back home.

But it occurred to me at some point, that no one from my high school was going to my college.  Nobody would know me!  Nobody would be aware of my current state of geekiness if I acted all cool and stuff.  They would think I was the coolest girl in my old high school, and oh, how lucky they all were that I had decided to attend the same college they had!  Yes!  It could work!

I decided I would start by changing my name.  My given name is Elizabeth, but my parents and everyone shortened that to Beth right away.  I hated Beth.  Beth sounded like a baby name to me, or like the sound the cat made when it coughed up a hairball.  Luckily, Elizabeth is a name which lends itself to a lot of nicknames.  I have an Aunt Betty for instance, and my grandmother’s nickname was Libby.  Then there were also Betsy, Eliza, Liza, Ellie, and Liz.  Over the summer I whittled that list down to two finalists:  Elizabeth or Liz.

Elizabeth sounded sophisticated.  Liz sounded cool. 

My parents drove me up to college in mid-August for band camp. I stewed about it the whole way there.  I really didn’t know which name to pick, or, when it came right down to it, if I would even be brave enough to go with a new name.

My parents and I unloaded the car, we smiled and said hello to other parents and kids unloading their cars, but we never got to the, “Hi, my name is…” stage.  My roommate was not in the band, therefore, I had the room to myself.  After having a good cry once my parents left, I sat there alone until there was a knock at the door.

I opened the door to an upperclassmen who was in charge of escorting freshmen to the correct building for the previously scheduled band practice.  She introduced herself.

I had no time to think about it.  I simply replied, “I’m Liz, nice to meet you.”  And I became cool  Liz.

Well, I became Liz, anyway.  The cool part still didn’t happen.  But I introduced myself to hundreds of people over the years in college, always as Liz.   I still maintained the Beth at home, figuring it would be too hard to get everyone who knew me to change their name for me.   And when I left college, I left Liz behind too. 

I don’t miss Liz, although I do miss college.  They were, really, four of the best years of my life, and I sobbed for the first hour on my drive home after graduation.  Now I love when I get an email or phone call meant for “Liz”.  It puts me right back there in time, back to my happy place.

Maybe I kind of do miss the old Liz.  Just a little bit.