The Three Words I Spent My Childhood Saying

Knock, knock, knock! My mom knocked on Vivian’s door. My small arm was wrapped around her leg, and I stared up at the doorknob. I didn’t mind going visiting teaching with Mom, except for one thing. The doorknob turned, and Vivian opened the door. “Oh hello, April. Come in,” she said with a smile. Then she bent down to look in my big, brown, four-year-old eyes. She smiled, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “And how are you, Katie?” I tucked my chin down and shyly mumbled, “It’s just Kate.” Why does she always call me Katie? That’s not my name! I thought.

Five years later, in our new neighborhood in Idaho, it continued. “Hi Katie!” said Dan, our neighbor across the street. That’s what he said every time he saw me. He thought it was funny to make me mad. Pretty much the funniest thing he’d ever seen, in fact. He never, ever called me anything but Katie. And I never, ever failed to correct him. “It’s just Kate.” “ It’s just Kate.” “ It’s just Kate.” “It’s just Kate.” “It’s just Kate.” Occasionally I would flare up and say, “Quit calling me Katie!! My! Name! Is! KATE!!” But he would laugh and say, “Fine. Whatever you say, Katie.” I’ve always been proud of the self-control I showed in not strangling him.

It’s just Kate. This one sentence has been on my tongue since I could speak. Perhaps I get so defensive because I love my name so much. I love it because it fits me perfectly and holds meaning and purpose.

K-a-t-e: four letters. I happen to love the number 4 and its multiples. Eight and sixteen were my favorite years. (Don’t remember much of four, and twelve was tough.) I also love evenly divided portions. Fittingly, my name has two vowels and two consonants. They are arranged in a consonant-vowel-consonant-vowel pattern. Coincidently, I enjoy patterns and repetition. Even the letters have meaning to me. Two of them stand tall and straight; two are small and rounded. My personality has a few sides as well. (Not that I’m schizophrenic, mind you.)

“Is that short for Katherine or Kaitlyn?” People ask me this all the time. No. It’s just Kate. Although my name is what it is, I like the idea that it comes from something bigger. I like it because I come from something bigger too. I come from my parents and their faults and triumphs. I come from my grandparents and the life lessons I’ve learned from them. I come from my pioneer ancestors and their faith and courage. I come from Washington’s army and the fight for Liberty. I come from all the prophets and their testimonies. I come from spiritual moments in seminary and church. I come from my heavenly parents. I come from all these and more. I come from them, but I still stand as myself. I am who I am. Me. Not my parents. Not my grandparents. Me. Kate. Not Katherine, but from Katherine.

Kate means Pure. The meaning of my name has come to be a sort of banner, or mission statement, if you will. I try to keep my thoughts, words, and actions worthy of my name. I also take it to mean 100% pure Kate: to be always and completely myself. Trying to be someone else is a waste of time; I will never be them, but I will always be me. No matter who I am with, or where I am, I always try to be myself. I’m still learning to completely accept and love myself, but I’m getting there. So what if I’m a little weird? This is who I am, so I might as well enjoy it.

Now, I smile sweetly when someone gets my name wrong. Gone are the days of angry flare-ups. I’ve learned that people will eventually get it right. Eventually they realize that it’s not Katie, Katherine, or Kaitlyn. It’s just Kate. I’m just Kate.