When I was born, my parents named me. Within 2 weeks, I'm told, they began calling me something else. Well, my mom did. I still have the IRS and my dad to call me by my "real" name.
I promised myself I would never do that to any of my kids. Having to explain to every teacher in my life why the roster said one thing and I was called another brought attention to me that I didn't want. Then I had a Fourth. Our oldest is the Fourth with his name, John. His dad is also John, and I didn't want to call our son Johnny. It seems that, when that happens, it never ends, and you have a 49 year-old man being called Johnny. (Yes, Carol, I love you. But the Johnny thing?) And HIS dad is called Jack. So that was not available. There was even a great-grandpa named John.
So we chose Jay. And he told me the other night that he always had to explain that to his teachers, and didn't appreciate it. I knew I should have homeschooled him, too.
But I guess it isn't all that important. As we get older, we forget names, and the people around us do, too. Here's a semi-humorous video about how one man suggests we handle the issue...