My mother and my father didn’t often feud, well, y’know, before they left one another once i was

born. But the talk of my name really got the two of them arguing.

So, before I was born on that fateful morning of December 22nd 2005, my mother and father set
up a plan. They wrote out every name they could think for me on a bunch of sticky notes, and
stuck them to a wall.

Here is how the game worked: Each day one parent was able to pull a name they didn’t like off
of the wall, and each day, if one of them had a good name to add, they would add it to the
wall.The remaining five names they would choose from.

After approximately a month of this going back and forth, my mother and father had the final
names to talk over, and they did so over a football game. What remained were the following:

Coco, meaning chocolate beans. It’s a sweet name that I’m glad I wasn’t named. I loathe this
name. My mother really wanted this name, finding it cute and unique.

Vanessa, meaning the god of love… or a lesser, less useful meaning, butterfly. Sure, cute, but
my mother thought it was a harlets name and they both quickly moved over that one.

Paige, meaning assistant or helper. This is the name that my aunty Leesa wanted, and she will
still die on that rock till this day.

Morgan is another name that my mother was about to die for, she still wishes I was named
Morgan. Morgan has a few meanings, but is mainly used to describe a bright and glimmering
ocean in Welsh. Pretty, but I’m glad she didn’t name me this; it reminds me of the colour brown.

Now, for the final name: Catherine. Yeah, my name was never supposed to be Tatum.
Catherine, meaning: pure or untouched. My mother and father had decided that they both didn’t
mind the name: it was a beautiful name (in their eyes), my mother could call me Catie, and I
could use as many nicknames as I pleased later in life.

Now as much as I love the name Catherine, I am very grateful for what happened moments
after they decided to agree on Catherine.

Remember the football game I briefly mentioned? In the opening ceremonies they named off
most of the players on the American team, one of them being Tatum Bell.

So, short story short, my mother heard the name Tatum, my father heard the name Tatum, and
at that very moment tossed Catherine out the window for Tatum.

It really is quite stupid how all of that planning and work to try and name me went down the
drain because of some football player (who isn’t even canadian, might I add), but I can’t
complain.
The name Tatum means bringer of joy, or a welcoming homestead. People with this name are
said to be bright and cheerful, as well as welcoming and warm. So, in the end I couldn’t be
happier. Sure, I get called totempole or tater-tot, but I would rather tolerate that than being
named coco.