Living With Muncie

I get asked all the time about my name, Muncie. Usually when I introduce myself I say, "Muncie, Mun see, like Muncie, Indiana." This doesn't help people remember my name, but they recall it is unusual or that I have something to do with Indiana.

My parents gave me this name because of my last name, Smith. My dad lived with Tom Smith all his life. My mom's name was Ann. Tom and Ann Smith. Whenever they checked in a hotel, the clerk always smirked as he handed the keys to “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” They decided to give their little girl an uncommon first name so she would stand out from common Smith kids.

I didn't know Muncie was a peculiar name until I went to school. Kids generally didn’t have a problem with my name. It was the substitute teachers who gave me grief. Mrs. Bargeron was the worst. She would call the roll, get to my name and butcher it. She would say my name as though it rhymed with Eunice. “MUNICE SMITH? Is he here?” she would ask. The whole class would peal into laughter. I was a humiliated seven year old. I would ask my parents why they didn’t give me a normal name. You know, like Rebecca.

On vacation I could never find my name among the license plates for bikes or key chains. There were never any Muncie head bands or pencils among the Marys, Barbaras and Cindys. Once in Williamsburg, I had my name put on a horse shoe at the black smith's shop. The poor guy used three horse shoes trying to spell my name right. I finally had my name on something. I heard there was a Coca Cola bottling plant in Muncie, Indiana. I spent a whole summer checking those little Coke bottles until I found one with Muncie on it. It was somehow satisfing to have a bottle with my name on the bottom. It made up for all those key chains I never found.

By high school I started to see how an odd first name could work to my advantage. When someone yelled Debbie down the hall, several girls would turn their heads. When someone yelled Muncie, I knew it was me they wanted. People heard about me. I recently spoke to an high school acquaintance. He didn't remember what I looked like, but he recognized my name as someone he went to high school with. Too bad he never knew I carried a torch for him nearly four years--but that's another story.

About this time I would get unsolicited mail from the military declaring a need for men like Mr. Muncie Smith. I would toss it in the trash, feel insulted they thought I was a male and think “Yeah, I bet they'd like to have a ‘man’ like me in the barracks!”

I went to college out west. I wondered why those Idaho farm boys would call me Sister Shifter or ask if I had 4 or 5 speeds. I remained puzzled until one of them told me there was a transmission named Muncie. Great, I'm a car part.

Occasionally someone looked my name up in the encyclopedia and wondered if I knew what it meant. Of course I did. So I'd stand there straight faced as they told me, in-between giggles, that Muncie was a tribe of Indians that hunted turkeys. It meant turkey hunter.

As an adult, I still get all sorts of pronunciations. “Mu niss” is the most common, but I've also had a few “Mun keys.” It doesn't bother me. I just correct them. They usually are very apologetic. I can tell instantly if a caller is a friend or a sales person just by the pronunciation.

Actually, I have thanked my parents for giving me this curious first name. It has been worth the minor inconveniences. It is a great conversation starter. I consider myself up there with those other ladies who need no last name: Cher, Oprah and Mother Teresa. However, I have yet to convince anyone to name their child Muncie. My daughter tells me that she will name her little girl after me. By the way, I named her Rebecca.


Update: My daughter was just watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon. Mickey was dog sitting. The dog's name: Muncie.