One of the fun aspects of any pregnancy is choosing what to name your child. The name you ultimately choose is most likely one that had bubbled to the top of a list of others that for one reason or another were eventually rejected. The name you finally arrive upon is one that successfully underwent a battery of tests including:

• The last name check:  How does the name go with the surname? Does it make her sound like a hooker or him like a nerd?

• Potential disparaging word rhymes:  Does the name rhyme with any bodily functions or secretions?

• Creative vs. Practical:  Would you hire a lawyer named Sunbeam?

My husband and I had a really hard time deciding on a name for our first son. We had the girl name picked out – no problem. The boy name, however, took quite a bit more effort. Ultimately, we decided on a name that was deeply meaningful for both of us for different reasons and with which had very positive associations. As it worked out, it is also a popular male biblical name. Given the state of our world in 2003, we had agreed that although we do not subscribe to any religious order, it probably wasn’t a bad thing that his name would be widely accepted by one of the largest religions in the world. The name we chose was one less thing that would bring unwanted attention to him regardless of which spiritual path he may (or may not) choose for himself. It was also a decidedly masculine name.

My husband and I do our best to teach our children to respect everyone, regardless of their beliefs, as long as they bring no harm to anyone or anything. We have our own, personal sense of spirituality, and for us, it works. I have mentioned “god” to GirlyBoy before in the context of something greater than us humans and that which is all around us, but not as the creator of life or a singular diety, which is why the conversation we had with GirlyBoy on the way back from a family day trip really floored me.

It started out normal enough: BoyBoy and GirlyBoy were having some circular dialog about names. BoyBoy (who is 3 and is at that stage where he likes to make it known that he knows stuff—like names) went around the car calling out our names. When he got to his brother, GirlyBoy quickly chimed in, “Oh, that’s the name Mommy and Daddy gave me when I was born. But I have another name that god gave me.”

This piqued my interest. Although we knew of his “alter-ego” names (“Josephina” was hugely popular when he was 3 years old, and more recently “Jessie/Jessica”), I was curious to know more about the process by which he selects these other names. With interest I replied, “Go on. Tell me more about it.”

“It’s kind of a secret. I know you guys gave me my name when I was born, but god gave me another one.” I checked his face to see if he was joking. Was he trying to pull one over on us? He didn’t seem like he was living out some fantasy situation, but here was my 6 year old child telling me, very straight-faced, that he had received a divine visitation. In any case, I played along in ho-hum sort of way, attempting to ignore the chills running up my spine.

“What do you mean it’s kind of a secret? I want to know. What did god tell you your name is? Just tell me. Please?” I urged inquisitively.

Without meeting my eyes, he said, “I have my name you gave me ----, my middle name you gave me, and the name god gave me.”

“What is that name, sweetie,” I more told than asked. At this point in the conversation, I expected him to say “Jessie” at which point I would be able to call his bluff.

“Alex,” he replied.

Upon hearing a name I had never heard him use before, I exchanged glances with GirlyBoyPapa (who was driving). I knew right then that he, like me, had a million questions running through our minds, and surprisingly, GirlyBoy seemed to be receptive to answering some of them—something we rarely experience. Yet we knew that a barrage of questions slung at him would instantly close the window, so we had to proceed with caution if we didn't want him to shut down.

“Alex? Hm…” I replied. “That’s a nice name. When did god give you this name?” I asked.

“Before I was born,” he said.

“Oh I see. And when you heard this name, was it a name for a girl or a boy?” I held my breath waiting for his answer. What he said next might be a very important clue that could cast some light on how GirlyBoy sees himself and “who” his soul really is. I just HAD to know.

“Uhdunno. A boy and a girl. He didn’t really say. It wasn’t a boy or a girl.”

Alex: neither a boy nor a girl. Or both. My mind raced. Who is Alex in the context of religion and god? Was he –or she—an angel? In all my years of Catholic schooling, I didn't remember that name.

Later that evening, I entered “St. Alex” in the Google search field and discovered that there was indeed such a religious character. His life did not stand out as anything particularly noteworthy, but he is regarded as a martyr by the Catholics. The final passage of the description, however, spells out exactly the virtues of this particular saint. It brought everything full circle:

“Today when we are criticized by friends and society … St. Alexander is a prime example of how we should stand fast in the face of ridicule and ostracism.” (from http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=165)

Yep. That’s my little activist – standing tall and strong in the face of a society that tells him it’s not ok for him to dress like a girl, play with dolls, paint his nails, or wear headbands and makeup. He does all that and somehow manages to make people realize that he is NOT a freak, that he IS fun and funny, that he too craves and enjoys friendship and acceptance by others. In a beautiful way, he informs the world that he is just another kid with feelings, opinions, and preferences.