“Bill” “Blake” “Bill-la-kay” I go by many names, all with their own stories as to why. 

Blake, of course, was the name I was born with. The name I present myself with. The name I am known by. It’s who I am to those who know me and don’t. It’s one of many sounds I respond too, along with blank, which is extremely annoying to always hear. Blake carries my experiences, my identity, and my future. Blank carries nothingness. I am no blank canvas, waiting to be painted upon, as I have been alive and lived, and am painting my own. 

Bill-la-kay, funny enough, was a joke. It was a nickname given to me one time after having watched the Key and Peele video Substitute Teacher. Bill came from this name. It also came from my grandpa, who’s name was Bill and wanted me to be named Bill. Whenever I play golf, Bill is my name on the scorecard. Or the name I’m addressed as. “Nice shot there Bill.” 

But those names aren’t me. I am Blake. Not Bill. Not Bill-la-kay. Just Blake. Some people like nicknames. I don’t. Blake is who I am. Who I want to be when I am golfing. Who I want to be to people who meet me. I don’t want to be the joke from a youtube video. I don’t want to be a blank canvas of nothingness. I am Blake. Blake is who I want people to meet. Blake is who I want to experience with. And Blake is what I want to be remembered as. 

But then again, I remember why I have those nicknames. Bill-la-kay is a joke, but maybe it’s also a common ground with a denise or an aaron. And maybe Bill is what connects me more to my grandpa and family. Blank doesn’t get a pass here, it still means nothingness.

I may not like it, but all my names and nicknames are me. And they created me. And they are me. And maybe that’s not so bad.