An identifier, a title, a tag, an epithet, a name. My birth certificate reads "William Reiss Briggs," an arbitrary label assigned to me when I was a mere 22 inch, 8.4 pound infant unable to absorb the significance of what I was being called. I was neither involved in the choice of that name nor able to mutter even a syllable in attempt to pronounce it. Only later on in my life would I learn of the heritage in my name. William came from my grandfather and great-grandfather on my mother’s side, and Reiss was the family surname from which my father’s side originated. Although strongly defining in a sentimental sense, the name William Reiss connected me to my family yet didn’t represent my personality.
No parents actually give their child a name