Carnett: Out on a limb in this name game

In my family, it’s bills, bills and more bills. Or more accurately, Bills.

Our family tree is crawling with guys named William. They cling to almost every branch. Added to that chaotic proliferation is the fact that my default name has always been Bill.

My great grandfather on my mom’s side was Bill. Both of my grandfathers were Bills. My great uncle was Bill. My dad was Bill. My younger brother is Bill.

Bill — my brother — proudly bore the most revered moniker of our clan as we grew up in Newport Beach and Costa Mesa. No such advantage for me. James was of no major distinction or consequence.

Laura Nyro in her 1966 Top 40 hit “Wedding Bell Blues” added insult to my injury by breathing her sultry: “Bill, I love you so, I always will.” I was left with “Jimmy Crack Corn.”

But I managed to gain a microburst of William notoriety. Assorted family members and friends resorted to calling me Bill as I grew up. Those who didn’t know me well naturally assumed that, as eldest son, I’d been named for my dad. My younger brother, they reasoned, must be Jim. So I was frequently called Bill by doddering aunts and addled uncles, and I never batted an eye. I was comfortable with either title — Jim or Bill.

I must confess, however, it’s lonely going solo on the only “James” branch of the family oak. (BTW, no one has ever called me “Big Game James” or “King James.” If anything, I’ve been Jimmy C –- differentiating me from my second-grade pal, Jimmy B.)

My brother is not William III to my dad’s junior. Dad didn’t want a third.

As first-born, I was given the honor of sharing dad’s middle name. He received that designation from his father, my grandfather, who in turn inherited it from his grandfather, my great-great-grandfather.

My brother came along 26 months after I was born. He was named William, but not for dad. He was named for my mother’s father, William, who died a few months after my birth.

It’s convoluted, I know. But that’s the short answer as to why I’ve always been comfortable answering to Bill.

Have you noticed that almost no young person in our culture today is named Bill, Jim or John? America’s current top boys names are, in order of ranking, Liam, Noah, Ethan, Mason and Logan.

Actually, it’s long been my understanding that Liam (pronounced lee-um) is an Irish variation of William. I’ve recently discovered that Liam is a short form of the Irish “Uilliam,” which is derivative of the Frankish “Willahelm.” The Germans altered Willahelm to “Wilhelm,” which subsequently morphed into William in the English-speaking world. So Liam is — but actually isn’t — Bill.

James is No. 14 on this year’s top names list and William is 15. John is nowhere to be seen. There are Aldens, Elijahs and Connors, but no Johns.

My wife and I know several teenage boys who’ve been given first names that are actually last names in their family trees. We know a Denning, a Dalton and a Hunter. That’s a nice touch.

Sadly, at present, no one is carrying the Carnett name forward. Our youngest daughter wouldn’t cotton to my suggestion two years ago that she tag our final grandson with Carnett as his first name. We could call him Carney! She’d have none of it. She went with Judah — though, as a mild concession, gave him James as a middle name.

My grandmothers’ maiden surnames were Ragsdale and Loudon, proper English monikers but lousy first names. Can you imagine Rags and Louie? Sounds like a Pixar flick.

Every society has its favorites. The U.S. has its Ethans and Liams. Residents of Smolensk and Saint Petersburg still go for Vladimir, Boris and Vasily. Things change little in Mother Russia, though I haven’t seen a Rasputin lately.

Still, I’m looking for 21st century retribution. Some diva with chops like Laura Nyro owes me: “Jim, I love you so, I always will.”

But I won’t hold my breath.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.