A boy named Lucifer: Jermajesty, Violence and other adventures in baby naming

Of all the myriad concerns piled upon the brain of an expecting parent — Does the hospital accept pennies? Which end does the diaper go on? Can you get rabies from a used stroller? — perhaps none are as frustrating and potentially disastrous as giving the kid a name.

Fortunately, babies aren’t allowed to name themselves. Unfortunately, parents are.

The country of New Zealand has become so fed up with its dimwitted dads and moronic moms that it has created an official list of names that parents are no longer allowed to bestow upon their kids. The country’s Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages has barred people from naming their children Lucifer, as well as names like Bishop, General, Knight and Mister — deemed too similar to titles — and punctuation marks like * (Asterisk), / (Slash) and . (Period).

Other names rejected in the past two years include 89, Messiah and the single letters T, D and C. The letters q and J were eventually accepted, however, as were head-scratchers like Violence, Number 16 Bus Shelter and Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii. That last poor kid was forced to change her name at the early age of 9.

So how does a child get named Violence, but not Bishop? Who decides what’s acceptable and what’s obscene? More importantly, where do you draw the line between a parent’s right to name something they’ve created and a child’s right to not be bullied for the rest of her life?

We’ve talked before about why names matter more than you think, and about the bizarre, unparentlike things people will tag their toddlers with. But this move marks a new twist in the realm of baby naming, specifically in that governments are actually looking to push legislation that comes between parents and their children. And why not? If you can bring your kid into this world under the sign of Violence, literally, then that’s about as close as you can get to psychological abuse … all before the poor little thing is even born.

Now, I do not have any children, so I may be infusing this issue with more importance than is necessary. Maybe naming your kid Donald Duck or Sgt. Butter Blast isn’t such a big deal. But I can’t help thinking that what you scribble on that scrap of paper isn’t just some silly string of letters. It’s a title your kid will be saddled with for her entire life, something which will become inextricably bound not only with the way she believes others perceive her, but also in how she identifies herself as a person. It is one of the first and most significant things you will do as a responsible parent.

So, you know, no pressure.

Otherwise you could just be an actor and not even care. If your parents are in Hollywood, chances are you’ll be named something wedgie-worthy like Blanket (courtesy of Michael Jackson), Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee), Sage Moonblood (Sylvester Stallone), Blue Angel (The Edge), Moon Unit and Diva Thin Muffin (Frank Zappa) or Moxie Crimefighter (Penn Jillette). Heaven forbid your dad should be Jermaine Jackson, because as anyone who’s been through middle school knows, someone named Jermajesty holds little royal sway in a land of noogies and nipple cripples.

Of course, famous people are different. Tinsel Town might have a devil-may-care attitude when it comes to naming their children, but at least those brats will have fame and money to wipe their tears on. Regular folk like us don’t have Escalades or bodyguards to hide behind.

In the end, the concern here is and always will be the future welfare of the child. As far as I see it, the desire to protect a little Lucifer or Adolf Hitler or ./?! from future scarring will always trump the parents’ freedom of expression.

That’s the thing: a person’s right to express themselves through paint or song or interpretive knit is all well and dandy because it doesn’t have to affect anyone else. But naming your kid Shroomflower Sparkle Pony because it reflects your harmony with nature will brand the kid a hippie before she even has a chance to embrace or reject her patchouli oil-scented heritage.

And I know this might sound blasphemous, but if you can’t be responsible enough to ponder how a name might affect your children in the future … maybe you shouldn’t be having kids in the first place.