When I was growing up, I never knew my maiden name would turn into the blessing it is. For it is strange. Not as in odd, weird, or quirky. But Strange.
Kimberly A. Strange
It was such a crazy burden when I was younger. So much so, I used to envision the days when it would no longer be mine. The cringing dread I experienced as the inevitable snickers of laughter made their way through the classroom when the teacher on the first day of school called out my name, would be blissfully gone. The chagrin I felt in college, when being the last one to sign the roster for the dorm lottery, as the question was asked, “Is the last person in line strange?” would become, more and more, a distant memory. And even though it gave me a wry smile, the embarrassment of, “Strange party of four, your table is ready,” is something I would never have to endure again.
On the day when I was finally to be free from my moniker—the day I married my late husband—to my surprise I couldn’t let it go. As hard as it was to bear, my maiden name is me. It is who I am.
Little did I know that minuscule trial of a name would later become a blessing.