I have an unusual first name, and it's been a bane and blessing all my life.
As a child, I hated my name--even went through a phase where I would tell people I was named Katherine and to call me Kate.
As I grew older I began to appreciate the uniqueness of my name a little more. It drew (and still draws) attention and sometimes provides a nice conversation starter. Also, most people don't have preconceived notion of what kind of person a "Keena" should be. They don't hear my name and think of the high school frienemy who stole their boyfriend.
On the downside, a lot of people don't get my name right either.
For years, my great-aunt proudly presented me with a cake that said, "Happy Birthday, Kenna." A junior high teacher called me "Kenya," and in college, a drunken student thought I was "Kiwi." The name stuck with me for four years.
I've met only four other Keena's in my life, and each time I've found myself confused and slightly annoyed. I mean how dare anyone else have my name. I know. Most people learn to deal with that aspect of life while in pre-school. I've never had to.
But last week I experienced a first. A Kincaid from Arizona stumbled across a blog post and wondered if we were related (we're not), then casually let me know his Chihuahua is named Keana (pronounced the same as mine, key-na).
I gaped for a moment, then surprised myself by laughing. He'd named the dog for his grandchildren (using the first letter of each of their names). I only hope no one ever purposely names their dog after me. :-)