I always hated my name. Not sure why but I thought my friends Mark, Lee and Eric (called Ricky) had cooler names. Mostly it must have been the fact that when my mother was mad at me I heard that “Daaaviddd.” Hated it.

At 17 I went off to college where all young people re-invent themselves. I introduced myself to everyone as Dave and from then on that’s what I was. I told the family – eventually – and some of them made the switch – though others never could.

At 32 I got married to wife #1. She liked David and insisted on calling me that. I was in love (or maybe just horny) and let her. Six years later we got divorced and I determined never to be called David again. Wife #2 admitted she actually preferred David but knew better than to call me that. My darling Janet always called me Dave.

Segway 32 years. I am 64 and retired in the Philippines. I go into Robinsons and make a purchase in the department store. “What is your name, Sir?” I am asked for the sake of the receipt. “Dave,” I respond. “Steve?” “No, Dave.” “OK, Steve. “No Dave. You know like ‘Dave’s not here.'” Stares of incomprehension.

The next day I am at Citi Hardware. Same thing. “Can I get your name for the receipt, Sir.” Same confusion. OK, the clerks are cute so I give them a break, but it’s annoying.

Everywhere in the Philippines I am asked for my name. This is interesting coming from a culture in which anonymity is so prized.

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After at least a dozen of these episodes I respond, “Dave. You know like David.” “Ah, Sir David! Yes.” Success of sorts.

For a couple more months I continued to explain that Dave was from David. Finally I got tired of it.

“Sir, what’s your name for our records?” “David,” I mumbled. “Thank you, Sir David.”

From then on I figured what the hell and answered to David. If you’ve lived in the Philippines for any length of time you learn that you are not going to change the Philippines. The Philippines on the other hand may well change you. So now at 66 I’m David again, damn it. I can hear my mother calling me! Daaaviddd!