We all have names. Most are given at birth; some hate them, some love them. I love mine. Whether you love it or hate it, your name evokes strong emotions.

My mother gave me the name David. I was happy with it until, one day while fishing on the shores of a lake; I met a man, a stranger. When he heard my name, he remarked, “Ah, David, there has been only one great David in history and he was a murderer, and an adulterer.”

My reply, “But he was a king.”

To soften the blow of discovery, my mother told me that she got the name from Dwight David Eisenhower, a very popular fellow in the late 1940s. I could deal with that. I have followed neither namesake.

David is a Hebrew name meaning beloved, or as my mother said, dearly beloved. I never found the latter in any book, but you do not argue with my mother and I like being dearly beloved.

There is power in a name. Before Abraham, which means “father of a multitude,” became such, he was Abram, meaning exalted father. He was promised that through his lineage, all the peoples of the earth would be blessed. When people called him Abraham, he was hearing, “father of a multitude.” It changed his thinking. There is power in a name.

My name is important to me, not only for identification, but because I identify with it. No one has the right to change it. I do not like “Dave” or any other derivation. Does anyone have the right to change my name? I am David, but that is not all. I am David Wilson.

Up until about four years ago, I did not like Wilson. I thought having another last name for a middle name wasn’t cool. When I discovered my genealogy while writing the book about my great-great-grandfather’s Civil War experiences, I learned more about Susan Wilson. She became my great-great-grandmother, hence, the origin of my middle name. I have both progenitors’ last names, making my name very cool and very powerful.

In the distant past when I knew a lot about pumping chemicals and the systems necessary to do so safely, I was loaned as a consultant to a very large refinery in southwest Louisiana. I loathed being away from home, and as I approached the world’s largest refinery, my attitude worsened until I saw their marquee.

There in big lights was their company name welcoming David Atwood. When I saw that, I would have rebuilt their plant for them. The power of a name.

I heard one of the Princesses correcting someone as to the spelling of her middle name. It is Christiana. Her friends were writing and pronouncing it Christina. She corrected them and began to write it on her Facebook account as ChristiAna. The importance of a name.

I was listening to a group of teens talk about names they wanted to give their children. The discussion was loud and opinionated. All had their favorites, and those they thought were terrible. All were horrified at what some people named their children. It makes you wonder what kind of hormonal terrorism must have been going on at the time of birth to name their progeny such terrible things.

Whatever your name is, it was important to someone at some time. You should discover why. It might give you a sense of power and importance. Mine does.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted, and his other works viewed at www.starchasers.us, or david@starchasers.us.