My name is unoriginal it came from a baby book. With no thought, no second-guessing my name from then on was just Lauren. In Latin my name means wisdom. It is the name my parents call when they need help bandaging their open wounds. Lauren is the name my sisters call me by. To them, it means more than wisdom. It means sister, friend, and partner in crime.
L-A-U-R-E-N I write it on every homework assignment, and I type it on every document. I see it everywhere I go. There’s nowhere I can run where Laren doesn’t find me. It’s like a song that your mother sings to you every night before bed. I love my name because it is part of what makes me who I am.
Lauren, Lauren, Lauren my stepdad calls me. Get this for me, do that for me Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. My name rolls off his lips faster than my brain can think, like rainwater flowing downstream. Lauren, Lauren, Lauren that's what they call me. Every moment of every day Lauren, Lauren, Lauren.

It is the name my grandmother calls me. The name she will remember me by no matter the time of day. L-A-U-R-E-N she helped me write as a young child over and over again. The way she says my name is like the sun shining after a storm. It is calming and brings warmth to your skin.

It is the name my parents call when I have made them unhappy. Yelling my name as if all hope is lost. “Lauren can you help me?” my parents would ask. Being the helpful Lauren I do without protest. My name is always the first to be called as if it is the only name they can remember.

It is the name my sisters call me when they want something. “Lauren you’re the best”, my younger sister would say after borrowing my clothes. “Lauren, are you coming over?” my older sister asks every weekend as if we need bonding time. To them, my name is just as sweet as honey and without it, they would be missing their favorite condiment. The way they say my name makes me feel like I’m the peanut butter to their jelly.

“Hold on Lauren. Give me a second!” my boyfriend yells through the phone. Saying my name as if it is a life and death situation. To him, my name means annoying, anger, love, and partner. L-A-U-R-E-N he types whenever I have made him mad or if he wants me to pay attention. “Listen to me! Stop watching Netflix,” he says at the end of every week. The way he pronounces my name is like receiving flowers on Valentines Day. It is necessary, yet makes you feel all warm inside.

It is the name my father calls me when his toe is hurting him. “Lauren will you come take this out for me!” he screams from his bedroom. To my dad, Lauren means helpful, dependable, trustworthy, respectful, and generous. My name is a representation of everything I am and everything he hopes for me to become.

“My Lauren” is what mother calls me when she is most proud of me. Lauren, Lauren, Lauren she wears my name out like a pair of jeans you refuse to throw away. Old, faded and ripped just like my name. Lauren, Lauren, Lauren I recite every night before bed. Lauren, Lauren, Lauren damn I’m proud of who I am.