Awhile back, Daughter decided to change the spelling of her name. Being that she's 12, I didn't give her a hard time about it. I didn't tell her how annoying it is to meet a Karen or a Christine or a Megan only to find out I've really met a Karyn or a Crystine or a Megen. And those with the alternate spellings always seem so demanding that you spell their name precisely in that whacked-out way or face their wrath.
When I was 8, I was Patti. We were moving to a new place, being an Air Force brat and all, and my mother suggested I change my name. My middle name is Jean, so she suggested I henceforth be known as "PJ." Boy, did I scoff mightily at that. Had my mother never been a child? Did she have any idea how often I would have been called "Pajamas" or "Nightgown" or worse? Wasn't it bad enough to be called "Peppermint Patti"? Or, as my loving siblings would say, "Fat Pat the Water Rat"?
In the end, I did change the spelling of my name, opting for a "y" rather than an "i." That move has saved me countless moments in my life, what with not having to spend the time dotting the i.
Daughter has a similar nickname. Were I to change the spelling of my name in a similar manner to what she has done, I would be known as "Pati."
Line me up with the Karyns and the Megens. "Pati."
At least she hasn't started putting that damn heart above the i. She is 12 after all.