Sean, the name passed down from Sean Sr. I am Sean Jr. but my family gave me the name Juni when I was 10. I wished I could be Little Sean again. 

Eventually my name evolved to June Junes which made me want to rip off my ears. 

Then, I got into lifting. When I seemingly got noticeable gains I was actually called Junior. Although I still hated it, it was the least painful name.

 One day they will call me Sean Evan…One day they will call me Sean…One day they will call me BIG SEAN…

Until then—I am stuck with Junior. 

 My name looks aesthetic to me, and maybe only me. When I look at Sean, I see a snake protecting its eggs. I am fierce like a snake and always stick up for my friends and family. However in the eyes of the public my name looks like blood shed. It looks wrong. Is spelled wrong. They think they are funny when they call me “Seeeen.” I hope they don’t quit their day job…

The absolute worst part of being named Sean is when people ask how I spell my name. This is especially aggravated when I am hangry at Chick fil a. “Ok and how do you spell that? I don't want to get your name wrong.” I give a fake chuckle and grin, “S-E-A-N” Deep down all I want is some anabolic delicious crispy chicken sandwiches.

But being named Sean isn't all that bad. 

My name reminds me of the color orange or perhaps green, both representing my Irish heritage. The Irish spring green engulfing your eyes. The orange carrot tops of fellow ginger leprechauns.

Sean feels like a pair of scissors slicing a piece of paper clean. It sounds like a snarling whisper twisting in the wind.  My name smells like the ocean and feels like a smooth mist of cologne. 

Sean means God is gracious. I have just recently been enlightened by God. God's mercy is endless. No matter what you do if you confess your sins they are completely wiped away.

My name reminds me I am a sinner—but because of God's grace, I can still make it.  

Sean.