If someone would have given me a dollar for each time that my name has been either mispronounced or misspelled over the years, suffice it to say that I wouldn’t have to toil away at a day job, and could instead be happily living out my life on my own private island somewhere. I’d have one of those trendy eco-friendly homes with the requisite outdoor shower and a wireless connection that reached every corner of the island, ensuring that I would be able to connect with the outside world whenever I’d choose to do so. I’d spend my days writing and trying to be green, though as we know, sometimes, it’s just not easy being green

But I digress. While obviously, there are far more outrageous and unusual names than mine, it’s still the only one that I have to deal with on a daily basis. That’s not to say that I don’t like my name. I’ve grown rather fond of it over the years, despite the difficulties that it brings. The constant need to correct nearly everyone the first time around… The teachers who could never get it right, including my seventh grade math teacher, who called me Lisa so frequently that I actually stopped answering her until she’d say Liza. The friends who spoke languages that don’t use a long “i” sound… Don’t even get me started on sheer variety of bastardizations I encounter nearly every day here in Israel, where I’ve seen it spelled in a plethora of different ways in both Hebrew and English, and corrections of mispronunciations are an everyday occurrence.

Of course, there are advantages as well. In most cases, when someone calls out “Liza”, it’s usually fairly safe to assume that they’re looking for me. The only exceptions would be a brief university stint when I had a floor-mate named Liza, and my fabulous cousin Liza who is, by the way, also a writer (she’s younger than I am, so please try to imagine how much fun it’s been for me to have the family nickname of “Big Liza”, to her “Little Liza”. And no, you may not call me Big Liza…). Needless to say, I’ve also never really found myself in one of those situations like the one that occurred during a year program in Israel after university, where we had five women named Rachel and I spent a good part of the year saying, “Rachel. No, not you…”. I must admit, though, that I do find it more than a little bizarre to have just discovered this morning that American actress Liza Weil has both the same middle name as me (Rebecca) and the same birthday, though she’s nine years younger than I am (and no, you still can’t call me Big Liza…). And, just in case you were wondering, I cannot sing like Liza Minnelli, whose “It’s Liza with a Z” is one of the recurring theme songs of my life.

Surprisingly, there are quite a few songs about women named Liza. The one that immediately comes to mind is “There’s a Hole in the Bucket”, the Harry Belafonte and Odetta version of which, was used many years ago by my best friend as a tool of torture during a drive from Springfield, MA to the Capital District region of NY. There’s a song called “Liza” by a group known as The Four Freshman, and the oddly spelled “Liezah” by The Coral. My all-time favorite, though, would have to be “Come Back Liza”, by Harry Belafonte. What can I say – the man is brilliantly talented, and truthfully, who doesn’t love a taste of Calypso from time to time?

So, what are the trials and tribulations surrounding your name? Do you have any songs?

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