Memories really are just where you laid them...

*Rough Draft*
"You know it's funny what a young man recollects? 'Cause I don't remember bein' born. I don't recall what I got for my first Christmas and I don't know when I went on my first outdoor picnic. But I do remember the first time I heard the sweetest voice in the wide world." -Forrest Gump

It's funny how some memories - especially the traumatic ones (positive & negative) - stay with us, while other, less significant events are lost in the past.
I can remember being three years old & in pre-school. I met my first "boyfriend" there. His name was Nicky. I met my first best friend, Erin.
I recall being five & watching daytime TV with my Dad, eating lunch with him & then going to kindergarten for the afternoon.
My first day of first grade was very traumatic. I had never spent a whole day in school before. I couldn't understand. I cried - sobbed & screamed - when my Mom dropped me off. I refused to let go of her - my teacher, Mrs. Finnegan, pried my tiny fingers from my mother & ushered me in line with the rest of my classmates - some upset, some eager.
One of my Christmas presents that year was a trip to Disney World with my Mom & my big brother.
In second grade, I met my second best friend, MaryKate, who didn't really become my best friend until the fifth grade.
First Reconciliation and First Communion were that year & I was so uncomfortable my puffy, itchy white dress. Mom told me I looked beautiful & I couldn't wait to put on some shorts & a t-shirt!
The summer between second & third grades was the most traumatic by far: my infamous nose job in the Pocono Mountains!
In third grade I played Clara Barton. I wore some of my Mom's old clothes, practiced all my lines & was the only girl in my group. I guess that was my first memorable interaction with boys.
Fourth grade was...tough.
Fifth grade wasn't too bad.
That was the year I started dancing. I didn't want to start taking lessons, but Mom insisted. Turned out to be a lot of fun, actually. That's right, Mom, I admit it!
Sixth grade was a lot more difficult.
In seventh grade, we went to Disney World for the second time.
Eighth grade proved to be much smoother than previous years. Then I graduated from grade school! I am a member of the Class of 2002! Okay, that's just scary...

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet."

If I was a boy then my name would be Andrew - Drew for short. I'm good with Andrew, but Drew? I'm not particularly a fan. I prefer Andy. But I'm not a boy, thankfully. My name is Bridget, a very Irish name meaning "strength." I like my first name, I think it fits who I am - at least, I like to thikn that I am a strong woman most days. The real treasure is my middle name: Furey. As in "hell hath no fury" - at least that's how it's pronounced. Furey doesn't mean anger - actually, I'm not sure what it means. I am named after my great-great-grandmother Bridget Furey Monaghan.

I haven't always liked my middle name. In grade school, when I told my friends, I was ridiculed & called "Furry." They made me feel like their pet rabbit.

In high school I gained not popularity but recognition as "BridgetFurey." Everyone seemed to love my name & soon shortened it to just Furey. I took the new & awesome nickname to college with me. For two years I was Bridget to my teachers & new people, but my identity had become Furey.
One of my good friends who loved my middle name would announce "It's not a hurricane - it's the Furey!" whenever I walked into a room.
When I was introduced to someone new, my friends would introduce me as Furey - just for the reaction of this new person - & it was up to me to explain & clarify my full name.

Furey is certainly a great conversation starter - "Hey, you'll never guess my middle name!" - & it's given me mystery, made me interesting. What I'm saying is that, now, I appreciate my name. I like my name! Come on, Bridget Furey Kelly? How much more Irish could I be?!