by Kathy Cannon Wiechman
A few years ago, my doctor sent me to get x-rays. There were only two other women in the radiology waiting room. After I filled out my paperwork, I was told someone would call for me shortly. When a tech stepped out and called “Kathy,” all three of us in the waiting room stood. She had to use my last name (which few people know how to pronounce) to narrow it down.
“It must be Kathy Day here,” I told the tech.
She laughed. “I’m Kathy, too,” she said.
It was not an uncommon occurrence for me. Most of my high school classes had a half dozen Kathys. In Latin class, we were seated alphabetically by last name, which put Kathy Cannon, Kathy Carr, and Kathy Clark in a row. We three had an agreement. If the teacher looked our way and called on “Kathy,” anyone who knew the correct answer would shout it out, sparing those who might not have studied as hard.
When I went to Chautauqua in 2011, Kathy Erskine, Kathi Appelt, and Kathleen Hayes were on the faculty. In line for supper the second day, I stood behind an attendee named Kathy and in front of another one. We laughed about the coincidence.
|The sisterhood of a name.|
And did you hear the name of this year’s Newbery winner? Katherine Applegate. Another Kathy.