It felt like a privilege granted to only the tightest inner circle.

We are currently babysitting a hamster whose name would not fit on a registration form for a driver's license, not that he ever hopes to be behind a wheel. I cannot even tell it to you, though the twins can. Clearly his owner loves him to christen him with such an elaborate title. 

When I was twelve I settled on the name of my first girl. Even forty years later it rolls off my tongue like a nursery rhyme.

I wanted her to be able to reel it out like a red carpet of words. But my tastes changed and as it happened my husband had opinions too. He chose the name of our first daughter which has a modest eleven letters and two parts. None of the others in my list ever made the cut until our ninth child, whose middle name is Rose. 

I love to hear people say the name of their spouse. One friend is of British background and when she and her husband were falling in love I found it startling to hear her address him. I had known him longer than she had and John had grown up with him his whole life, but her pronunciation trumped all of us. 

At graduation last week each student was announced with his or her full name, carefully articulated with respect. It was a way to honor each person completely as they stood at the pinnacle of their education. 

When my second son was small his most obstinate way to tag me was to tack on his own middle name.

"MommyJoshuaOdhner!" Apparently I had modeled to him that the addition of that suffix indicates a stand off. 

Luxuriously long, or succinctly short, names are precious ways to ribbon people. Sadly I have been known to use them like worn leather leashes, yanking my family around. It's better to treat them as if those syllables are sacred, like silk threads that tie us together.