Where did your name come from?

There are a few different versions floating around about where my name came from. The first one, and probably the most respectable, is that my mother’s family was Catholic. In a Catholic family, “Mary” is always a solid, go-to name. My mom is Mary Catherine. My grandmother was Catherine Haynes. So on and so forth. Basically, you’re either a Mary or a Catherine — those were your options.

Now, as for “Jane,” the waters get a little murkier. I’ve heard plenty of stories, but the one my mother tells is that my daddy wanted to name me after a high school girlfriend named Jani Neal. Needless to say, my mother wasn’t about to let that fly. Still, my daddy called me Jani anyway. Is that the gospel truth? Who knows. That’s her story, and I let her keep it.

My story, though? Oh, it’s my favorite — and probably not one my daddy would currently tell, considering he is a Sunday school teacher with a master’s in theology. Here’s how I see it: I’ve seen my parents’ wedding photos. My daddy looked like one of the Beatles. My mother looked like a flower child. They drove off in a Volkswagen with peace signs all over it. Add to that the little detail that I was born in 1969, right in the heart of the hippie movement, and well… let’s just say naming me Mary Jane feels a little too on the nose to be a coincidence.

So, where did my name come from? According to my mother, it was tradition. According to her version of my daddy’s story, it was a girlfriend. But according to me? It was the Summer of Love, a VW bug, and a name that fit the times just a little too perfectly. 🌸✌️

XOXO, Jani