Why I Named My Daughter Cynthia

How do you go about naming a baby who you are going to care for and love for eternity.  Cynthia has always been a name I loved.  I always felt a closeness with my sister Cynthia although she died at a very young age.  I loved my sister even though I never knew her. 

She was born on November 28, 1961 and died on April 7, 1962.  I was about to be 4 years old when she died. Although I can't remember much at that age, I have some memory of looking into a crib through the bars and seeing this tiny baby.  I know sometimes we see things as a child and in our minds we may recall something totally different. 

Many of our memories at such a young age cannot be proven unless someone can tell you what happened and it is close to what you remember.  After looking in the crib and seeing this tiny baby; my memory goes to a place in our front yard.  There are many people there and I see a big hole in the ground.  I see police cars and I don't really understand what is happening. 

I never knew until one day, we went to where my sister is buried.  It is a small cemetary out in the country.  When I first saw it, my mind went back to that day when I was about 4 years old.  The entrance area to the cemetary looked so much like our front fence area where we lived. The similiarities were there, so I knew how I could have thought it was all happening in our front  yard.  I have never asked any of my brothers or sisters if they remembered Cynthia, but I will always have that small memory of her. 

But not only did Cynthia's name become special because of my little sister, but also because of a little girl in my sunday school class when I was about 8 years old. 

My family of 8 started to attend a new church, Baptist Temple when I was about in the 3rd grade.  My memories of those days were not very nice.  but I remember having a nice teacher name Mrs. Jensen.  She was known for the great brownies she brought every sunday.  I remember sitting in a circle- singing and praying.  All the kids I remember were mean to me.  But not because I was disabled, but because I was hispanic.  The other children were all of caucasian race, and here I was a poor hispanic girl. 

I remember being tease about being brown skinned. I remember Sharon being the leader of the rest. I also remember a girl named Beverly and her brother always teasing me after church. Even during worship, Sharon and her brother Graig would stick out their tongues at me. I tried not to pay them any attention, but it was sometimes hard to avoid them. I never said anything to any of them so I never understand why they disliked me.   I felt so sad that they did not want to be my friend. 

But there was one girl who always spoke to me even when I did not speak to her. I was withdrawn and was afraid of saying anything.  Her name was Cynthia Kay. Cynthia was very nice to everyone. She and Sharon were friends, but she did not act like Sharon. Cynthia would sit by me in sunday school when we would sit in a circle. Once I remember Sharon telling everyone that she had gone to the beach and had gotten a tan. She began to say. Oh no, I'm turning brown!" over and over again. And everyone would join in and laugh. Cynthia wouldn't pay them any mind nor would she join in their teasing.

Although I did not say a word, she made me feel that I mattered.  She would grab my hand after sunday school and walk with me to Morning Worship.  Then she would ask her mom and my mom if I could sit with her during worship service.  Her mom and my mom would always let me and Cynthia and I would look at some books she always had with her.  We would giggle every now and then.  Her mom would just look at us with that stern look on her face and we would stop giggling, but would start again when she would look away.  I remember loving to play with her hair because it was long and blonde.  I felt I had a friend. I have never forgotten how she made it worth going to Sunday School even when most of the kids would always tease me.

We never realize that even as children we have an impact on people and other children.  But no matter how much I was teased in Sunday School and how much her friends told her that she should not talk to me, Cynthia never listened to them.  She continued to be my friend up until I stopped going to Sunday School, because my family had to stopped attending church.

So when my daughter was born on March 1980, I could not give her a name that meant so much more to me, than the name Cynthia.