My name is different. It's not like yours. Old English says “Avery is a ruler and an African American male”. My name conveys a yellow, it’s melodic—easy to say. My name is like a circus. Fun yet chaotic. My name is a blanket, soft and smooth. 

My mom’s best friend met a lady who was named Avery.  She worked at the local grocery store. My mom’s friend was having trouble carrying her items. Avery helped carry the items to the checkout counter. They talked and laughed for awhile.

This lady had a lasting impression, all sweet and generous. My mom heard the story and the name stuck through the rest of her pregnancy. It's no family name, but it’s my own unique name that reminds my mom of the kindness Avery at the grocery store showed. 

I never met that lady. But the way my mom and her friend tell the story I can almost imagine the way she looks, the sound of her voice, and the beautiful smile she had. The freckled face behind the oval framed glasses. The long, blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. A warm helping hand. That lady is my inspiration.

I have never tried to live up to these expectations. There was no need to. I am my own generous, kind, beautifully unique Avery.  The lady showed kindness and generosity unlike many people display, but so have I. 

When I think of my name, I think of purple. Because there are so many beautiful shades of me that not many people notice. It keeps me, me. My name is not blunt like red. My name is not dark like black. My name is perfect, like lavender, fuchsia, violet, plum. When I think of my name I think of the beach: calm, serene—but sometimes unpredictable. 

I am completely different than the Old English definition of Avery. But I fit just right with my own definition of Avery.  There are probably a million names out there, but each name belongs to someone else. 

Avery belongs to me.