My Name
My parents named me Anthony. With an "h". It wasn't a family name and I suppose they simply chose it because they liked it. I like it too.
I like the associations. Mark Antony was a cool guy (at least he is in Shakespeare) and St Anthony is my kind of saint, solitary, fixated- out there in the desert seeing visions and combatting demons; I've written poems about him.
I went to the sort of schools where everybody- even your mates- call you by your surname. So I was Anthony at home and Grist in the outer world. I never picked up a nickname. School friends sometimes addressed me as Gristle but it didn't stick (I'm glad to say.)
And then- I suppose in my late teens, but I can't remember exactly when- everybody except my immediate family took to calling me Tony- and I have answered to it ever since.
The associations it carries for me are 1. Tony Lumpkin the amiable, clod-hopping country squire in Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer and 2. Tony Armstrong Jones- Princess Margaret's social-climbing, playboy husband. I don't think I'm the least bit like either of them. Then of course there's Tony Blair- and all I want to say about that is I was a Tony long before he was.
Tony is an acceptable name, but I don't particularly relate to it. I think of it as a label that has been attached to me- as if I were luggage in transit.
It'll do for the time being...
I like the associations. Mark Antony was a cool guy (at least he is in Shakespeare) and St Anthony is my kind of saint, solitary, fixated- out there in the desert seeing visions and combatting demons; I've written poems about him.
I went to the sort of schools where everybody- even your mates- call you by your surname. So I was Anthony at home and Grist in the outer world. I never picked up a nickname. School friends sometimes addressed me as Gristle but it didn't stick (I'm glad to say.)
And then- I suppose in my late teens, but I can't remember exactly when- everybody except my immediate family took to calling me Tony- and I have answered to it ever since.
The associations it carries for me are 1. Tony Lumpkin the amiable, clod-hopping country squire in Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer and 2. Tony Armstrong Jones- Princess Margaret's social-climbing, playboy husband. I don't think I'm the least bit like either of them. Then of course there's Tony Blair- and all I want to say about that is I was a Tony long before he was.
Tony is an acceptable name, but I don't particularly relate to it. I think of it as a label that has been attached to me- as if I were luggage in transit.
It'll do for the time being...
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Maybe you know the story about the man who fell off a tall building and called out to St Anthony to save him.
A muscular brown arm arrested him in mid flight and a gruff voice demanded, "Which St Anthony?"
And the man replied. "St Anthony of Paduaaaaaaaagh!
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Joan of Arc's my birth day patron anyway. There'd be those who might say that was apt!
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-It also means I now have three completely impossible names for international travel. Søren Markvard Riis... I like it, though. It feels like me.
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My father told me the "SH" stood for "shit." Then he got mad when I cried.
I have adopted Saint Anthony, patron saint of lost causes, as my personal patron saint. It seems like destiny.
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Cheryl is pretty.
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He had hard hearted, unkind parents, and instead of making sure his own children never felt the way he did as a child, he took advantage of our weakness to feel powerful.
As an adult, I feel sorry for him. As a child, I hated and feared him. He has been dead for 20 years now. I still dream about him from time to time; often I am a child and he is being cruel.