The other day I accidentally misplaced my phone in the house. So I grabbed my sister’s phone and dialed my number to locate my handset. As I dialed for the first time I listened to my skiza tune carefully and here is what the lady at the end of the line had to say;
“Thank you for calling Deborah, Deborah will take your call shortly; did you know that Deborah is a Hebrew name for ‘bee’…”
I couldn’t help but notice; BEE? Why did my parents name me after a bee? At first, I was furious. Then I got hold of myself. So yeah, I mean bee. “I am named after a bee” That is way too comforting.
I then recalled how I was bitten by a bee as a kid. I was picking flowers when I accidentally touched a bee that was sucking nectar from one of the flowers I was eyeing. Apparently my touch provoked the bee and it stung back. It was an afternoon full of nursing the pain. To make matters worse, I hid the bump I’d gotten because this meant punishment for disobedience. If you grew up in the early ‘90s and had strict parents, surely you must know what I mean.
And now, I find out that am named after a bee. I almost rushed to the next room to ask my peroz why they named me after a bee, but on second thought, I wondered whether they were even aware of that fact. I had spent 20+ years going by the name Debra and I didn’t know what it meant.
I then typed Deborah into the Google tab and waited for the results.
Here is a little of what I got; Continue reading