You're never too old to treasure stories about your childhood.
One of my favorites is how I was supposed to be called Marquita, a name my father heard and liked, but that morphed in his memory to Marta by the time I was born.
Now, that may be a common name in certain Latin American and Scandinavian countries, but it's all too rare here. Especially for someone of Portuguese, German and Scottish descent.
While growing up, that was both good and bad. In school, there was no confusing me with the copious Debbies and Cheryls and Lisas that populated my classes, never a need to sign my last name on a get well card. But I was forever being called Marsha or Martha, as if just the five letters didn't compute. Once someone even asked me what Marta is "short for."
Exotic as my name was, I always felt a bit different, back in the time before individuality was encouraged and diversity embraced.
I still can recall my thrill when I met my first "other" Marta -- on TV -- the second-to-the-youngest von Trapp of "The Sound of Music" fame. Years later I got a shiver when I saw the name in bold letters rolling with the credits after "Lost in Space" starring Marta Kristen as space voyager Judy Robinson. But I had to eliminate her from the Marta club after learning she was born Birgit Annalisa Rusanen.
For years my favorite Christmas present was the personalized pencils my mother sent away for. Still, I searched in vain for my name on the little barrettes and bracelets and zipper pulls you find on racks in drug stores and souvenir shops.
So when we visited Santa Barbara five years ago, I did my usual scan of downtown stores, searching for "Marta" on miniature California license plate keychains. And there, among the Marias and Manuelas and Margaritas, was my name against the sunset backdrop of mountains and palm trees.
It turns out that 34.22 percent of the city's population is Hispanic or Latino, a fact we learned on our way out of town as we inched through dense traffic, snatches of mariachi bands drifting in through the rolled-down windows, caught up in the midst of the annual Old Spanish Days Fiesta.
I bought two of the keychains, one for the remote key to each of our cars. When the last cracked a few years ago, I spent an afternoon virtually retracing our steps and tracked down the store. Then I got the befuddled clerk to mail me all the "Marta"s they had in stock.
It's a good thing, too. At a recent Traverse City Orchestra concert where a big cake was rolled out on stage to celebrate the birthday of music director Kevin Rhodes, the audience was invited to sing "Happy Birthday." But first, there was a special announcement:
"Marta, we found your keys. You left them on the table when you signed Kevin's banner."
Reach staff writer Marta Hepler Drahos at mdrahos@record-eagle.com.
