... on the origins of Bunny as a name ...

Hello, I am Bronson "Bunny" Smith ... welcome to "On Being Bunny"... this is about being "me" ... how I see the world ... how I see myself... words of wisdom or simply ramblings.

When I decided I needed a new name to highlight my new part of this silly, confusing journey in my life ... "Bunny" came to mind.

Not the cute little creature that has been disneyfied to one inch of its life... but the foppish, skinny, blonde male character in New England society plays... he would walk on stage or on screen and say, "anyone for tennis?" and swing the racket like he could hardly lift it let alone hit a tennis ball with it. He would smile and the blonder, younger female ingenue advance from centre stage, giggle and put her arms around his and they would walk off the set out of view. Probably to a little side patio table to sip Long Island Ice Tea for the rest of the afternoon.

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A blue plush rubber faced bunny similar to my original bunny

Another angle for the bunny name was a traumatic experience as a child of four. I had a blue plush, rubber face bunny. I believe he was in the lying down on tummy position. I do not remember being able to move its arms and legs. And I think it was a sleepy half-closed eyes or sleeping version because I don't remember being able to talk to it or have it talk back. How could it? It was asleep.

Even though with those differences I loved my bunny. It was not a teddybear like my sister's German made teddybear with movable legs and arms and head. And it had a squeaker. That little noise box that made the "grrrr" sound when you tipped the teddy head over tail.

But one day I decided that my bunny was too dirty to play with and I went down to the basement and filled up the big sink beside the clothes washer (we did not have a dryer yet) and filled the sink with warm water and (don't ask me how) some soap so I could clean my bunny.

All I remember of what happened next was that my Mother was very mad at me. I was a bad boy and was sent to my bedroom as punishment. As I was leaving the laundry room I looked back to see Mother trying to squeeze the water out of my bunny. I never saw my bunny again.

Every so often when looking on the internet, I do a search for "rubber face blue bunny". I used to add "plush" to the search but not all bunnies were listed that way. A few months ago I think I found my bunny on an e-auction site. It had excelsior as stuffing, not foam or cotton. Maybe that is why my bunny was thrown away. The wood excelsior stuffing would not dry enough and it would rot from the inside.  A terrible way for a bunny to go. Maybe Mother was merciful when she got rid of bunny.

It was the first of many things my Mother took from me. Never to be seen again.

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My original name was Geoffrey Donald Smith.  As a young child I had trouble saying "Geoffrey", so it became "Fluffy" ( see the bunny co-relation?) and my sister, Deborah Ann Smith (she prefered Deb or Debbie)  was "Bobbie"... I must have had difficulty with hard sounding consonants.

My Mother's name was Shirley Elizabeth Smith (nee Ritchie) and she went by "Betty" to her friends and family but went by "Shirley" to her Nursing buddies. Mother was an R.N. complete with starched white blouse and skirt ( just past the knee), and the Florence Nightingale Nurse's Cap. She graduated from the St. Joseph's School of Nursing in Hamilton, Ontario. It was run by a bunch of Nuns so all the nurses were called "Sisters". 

My Mother's brother, Harvey Bronson Ritchie (see the Bronson co-relation) was known to his wife and her family as "Pete", after the book "Pete the Tramp". I actually found a copy of the book, maybe because of his knock-about youth in the 1930's, they called him that. Our family would call him Uncle Harvey which did not please my Aunt Sylvia, "But his name is Pete".

Childhood nicknames are part of the passages of time. Sometimes the originals are lost and become elements of stories of "remember when".

Back to my name which is not my original name but now legal name with a new nickname, well, you can see how confusing it can get. 

I did well with Geoffrey as my name until the eighth grade at school (1968) when Jeff McCabe joined the class. There was now a distinction between how to spell my name. The British (correct) way or the American ( lazy) way. My home room teacher embarrassed me in front of the entire class one day when she spelled my name wrong on the board. I raised my hand, "Miss Squire, you spelled my name wrong it is G - E -O... 

"You want me to start over then ?" she barked back. Since that day, the kids in class came up with different ways to pronounce my name and taunt me. I went from being "me" to be some kind of "butt of a joke". Teachers are supposed to inspired children to learn and reach out for their potential. She just gave me my first lesson in how to hide.

Years later, in 1994, I was having a very rough time. The full details will be dealt with in future blogs. My parents had disowned for the second time this year for being gay. My longtime companion, John, was revealed to be a chronic but functioning alcoholic. He was also being forced into early retirement by the end of the year. I was transferred from "The Food Hall", my favourite department at the Simpsons (The Bay) department store to the second floor Menswear Department  as merchandiser for a boss who refused to remember my name. She would call me "Gregory" to my face instead of Geoffrey. She would even leave notes for jobs-to-do to "Gregory". When I would correct her, she would shrug it off and walk away, ".. whatever.."

It felt like my life was falling apart. I just started writing scripts in the quiet of our home  downtown ( I moved in in 1981). Having John home full time would put a damper on my creativity. The rejection of my parents again ( I have lost count) weighed heavily on my sense of self-worth. And to top it off, the curse of Geoffrey - geefree - goffree - goofree- giraffe - was just more icing on the depression. 

I didn't matter to work - to home - to family and worst of all - to me... 

I have been suicidal in the past, being smothered by the crushing weight of depression - but this was different - they did not deserve to see my die - so I re-invented myself.

I changed my name legally to Bronson Donald Smith. I kept my last name of course and my Father's as the middle name (I wanted to be in the will when he died). Bronson came from three avenues. One was Grandpa or "Umpie Bronson", my Mother's grandfather. He was the only one in her family she talked about with love and happiness. Happy thoughts - a happy name. The second connection was my Uncle's middle name, Harvey Bronson Ritchie. And I thought that was cool. Having a last name as a first name. Very butch. And secondly, after my Great Uncle Harvey Bronson. He was my Grandma Ritchie's brother who lived in Montreal. There is even a street in Ottawa, Ontario named after his side of the family ( supposedly), Bronson Avenue. He was supposed to come to my 10th birthday party and perform magic tricks for me and my buddies. He died of a heart attack a month before my birthday. I never had a birthday party again. 

He was the first person to taken away from me. Never to be seen again.

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And now we come to "Bunny". I have been a professional Artist for most of my life. Starting off selling little wire sculptures to 7 different Art Gallery shops from the age of 10 - 16 ( 1965 - 1971).  Original Canadian Wire Sculptures created and designed by Geoffrey Smith. That was on the label tag of each sculpture.

I started my Modern Primitive Wood Paintings in 1983.  They are acrylic paint on routered / routed on plywood with pine strips and balsa wood strips to create shadow lines and wood relief effect. It has evolved over the years from an inital "grandma moses" approach to my more stylized brightly coloured pieces of art. You can see my artwork and bio and listings at my website:

http://bronsonsmith.com

So when Bunny came into being, I decided I was not going to change my name legally again ( 4 months after I changed my name from Geoffrey to Bronson - the department store manager who called me "Gregory" quit and was out of my life forever), so this time  I added "Bunny" as a nickname. My art career will continue as Bronson Smith - with "Bunny" on the side.

The addition of Bunny as a nickname is going well and people are asking what I prefer. I sign my name Bronson "Bunny" Smith and sometimes fill out forms as Bunny Smith. It depends on what it is for and how I am feeling that day.

I discovered I re-invent myself every 20 years or so. Like a butterfly spreading his or her wings, trying new paths and new goals. There is a wonderful calmness to this re-birth and at the same time - a new strength. I am not afraid anymore. Bunny is ferocious. 

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