At the bookstore recently, I was given a form to complete for their rewards program. Like all forms these days, it had these little spaces for me to print the letters of my name in; the idea being that each letter should be printed clearly in each little space so that the data processing people can input it. Although I always print my name clearly, I do my best to ignore these little spaces, and obey them the same way drivers in Italy obey traffic lanes.
The form at the bookstore, like virtually all others I have had to fill over a lifetime of form-filling, assumes I have a first name, middle initial and a last name, and like James T. Kirk, Maynard G. Krebs and George W. Bush, I should be able to complete the form without any difficulty, hesitation or considered thought.
After all, it's a name, not an exam.
All forms follow this basic universal format. But many names don't. I don't go by my first name, which is Craig. No offence to other Craigs out there, but I despise the name Craig, and always know it's junk mail in the mailbox, spam on the computer, or a rabid telemarketer on the phone if the "C" word is used. Apparently, I was conceived in the Craigflower Hotel in Victoria, so the place had some fond memories for my parents. But they're not my memories.
Anthony is my middle name, but like Roberts, Williams and James the world over, the formal is often shortened to the familiar. Robert becomes Bob. William is Bill. James is Jim.
And Anthony is Tony. Hence, I've been called Tony since I was born.
But even though everyone calls me by that name, Tony is not my legal name.
So when asked to fill in my legal name on a form, something that should be quite easy becomes a philosophical question on the nature of identity; an existential exercise in the reality of the self and the art of being. Should I be Tony, even though it's not my legal name?
Or should I be Craig A. Wilson because it fits nicely in the form? Or should I be Anthony C. Wilson, inverting the order of my names because that also fits nicely in the form and I get to avoid using the C word? Or should I confuse the form designers and be C. Anthony (Tony) Wilson? I have over time, gravitated to the latter to annoy the form designers, but I am still called Tony.
Being Tony creates its own set of dilemmas. One hazard of being Tony, is being Toni. My name is misspelled regularly enough to warrant a reminder that I'm actually a guy, and it's spelled T-o-n-y not T-o-n-i, (which, other than Toni Onley, is generally reserved for women and home permanents).
Another hazard of being Tony is the inevitable rhyming that doesn't seem to come with sensible names like David, Robert or William. I have learned to accept the fact that Tony-Baloney is funnier to some people than David-Baloney.
Still another hazard is what I call the Italian factor. When I moved from the protected Anglo enclave of Victoria to Ontario in 1975 for university, the very mention of my name provoked mock Italian accents from virtually everyone I met. "Antonio," they would say. Or more often: "Tony! Tony! Tony!" using the sort of exaggerated hand-gestures common to people pretending to be Italian. I would plead ignorance to the suggestion that because my name was Tony, I was by definition Italian.
Coming from Victoria, the thought never occurred to me. All the Tonys I had ever met till then were Andersons, Brighams and other anglos (which, I suppose, says a lot about Victoria). So, despite loving all things Italian, being Italian wasn't really one of them.
My life as a non-Italian Tony took an interesting turn when a guy named Tony Soprano started showing up on TV screens and more or less murdered his business associates, competitors and family members. So in addition being Toni, Tony! Tony! Tony! and Tony-Baloney, my name became linked with a guilt-ridden New Jersey gangster who sees a psychiatrist. Oh yeah: He's Italian, too.
Enter Tony Blair. He's been around the British political landscape for more than 10 years. As prime minister, he's presided over a booming economy, wars, terror plots and Royal funerals. But he's probably overstayed his political welcome. He's down in the polls, his colleagues are plotting his premature retirement, and his days as prime minister are, by his own admission, very much numbered.
Tony Blair may not have made the world safe from terror, war, class struggle or poverty, but he has made the world safe for Tonys. He never formalized his name to Anthony (although he could have) and, thanks to him, being Tony in the English-speaking world no longer means that you are "Tony! Tony! Tony!", Tony Soprano, or Tony-Baloney.
Tony Blair is the patron saint of Tonys. When he finally retires from office, we will need to find another.
C. Anthony ( Tony ) Wilson lives in Vancouver.