There is something about the sanctity of a name. We’ve had horses that came with names we didn’t like and we never changed or even abbreviated them. When ever I brought up the subject with people it is just an unwritten law that you don’t mess with a horses name, even though I have never known a horse that is called by its registered name. It’s like they are born and they get names that are a combination of the sire and the dams registered name and then they get a nick name that they are known by for the rest of their lives.
There was a geological feature near where I grew up. It was called Pigeon Rock, but recently I saw it referred to as Hawk Rock. The damn thing still looks like a pigeon poised atop a granite mountain, but somehow “Pigeon” didn’t fit the character of the new population. I felt a bit resentful about the name change, but then I realized something.
The question might be, “Who owns history?” but I know that my generation changed the names of places that our parents had different names for. There was a place where we used to go fishing and we called it the Union Hall because this piece of river was right behind the UAW building, but to my father’s generation called that piece of river, “Horses Drink” because it was a good place for people to water their horses back when people used horses for every day living. I’m sure if that building is still there it is called something else now since the auto plant has been gone from that town for twenty five years now.
Maybe it would be a good idea to have the opportunity to renew ones name or the names of anything every twenty five years or so. If you ruin your name, that’s OK, you get a fresh start after 25 years. If you live in a town with a name that has a bad connotation because of an event, change the name and change it back in twenty five years if it is appropriate. After all New York was once New Amsterdam. If that can change anything can change.