My father's name is Dee, so when I was born they named me

In the words of KaDee Strickland, “My father’s name is Dee, so when I was born they named me Katherine Dee and they took the K from Katherine and put it with his name, sort of to give me my dad’s namesake. But it’s hysterical how often it gets misspelled. I used to be like, ‘No one capitalizes my D!’” Beneath the humor and lightness of her words lies a truth that speaks to the deep bond between a father and daughter, and to the power of names — those sacred syllables that carry our lineage, our identity, and the echoes of those who came before us. In this tender reflection, Strickland reminds us that a name is not merely a word, but a story, a living thread in the fabric of family history.

The origin of this quote rests in Strickland’s early life, growing up in a small town in Georgia, raised with love, humility, and respect for her family roots. Her father’s name, Dee, became the seed of her own — not just a letter added to her given name, but a symbolic gesture of connection. The K from Katherine joined her father’s name, creating “KaDee,” a name that stands both as a creation of her parents’ affection and as an inheritance of identity. In this simple act, her parents wove their love and legacy into her very being. The story may seem small, but as with many truths of the heart, it holds within it the grandeur of meaning — that we are each the continuation of those who loved us first.

When she speaks of people failing to “capitalize the D,” we hear more than a humorous complaint. It is also a quiet defense of her wholeness, a reminder that the details of who we are — the names, the origins, the meanings — matter. Each of us, like her, wishes to be seen correctly, fully, and with respect. The capitalization of that letter becomes a symbol of recognition: of her father’s presence in her name, of the family pride she carries, and of the personal identity that she has shaped in her own right. To ignore the “D” is to overlook part of the story. So too in life, when we overlook the stories of others, we miss the essence of who they are.

Across the ages, the ancients revered the power of names. In every culture, names were given with purpose — as blessings, prophecies, or tributes to ancestors. The Egyptians carved their names into stone, believing that as long as their names endured, so would their souls. The Hebrews saw names as sacred, each one carrying divine intent. The Greeks named their children after heroes and gods, seeking to infuse them with courage or wisdom. So when Strickland’s parents joined their names together, they performed an ancient act: they bound past and present into one living word. Her name became a bridge between generations, a symbol of continuity — a reminder that identity is never born in isolation, but in the embrace of heritage.

There is also in her words a lesson about humor and humility. Strickland’s tone is not solemn, but joyful. She laughs at the misunderstandings, at the misspellings, at the small frustrations that others might find vexing. Yet within her laughter is grace — the ability to carry one’s heritage lightly, without bitterness or pride. The ancients taught that humor, rightly held, is a form of wisdom. It softens the heart and reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously. Her laughter is not a dismissal of meaning, but a celebration of it — for even when others get it wrong, she knows who she is and what her name means.

Let us look to Helen Keller, who, though born into silence and darkness, once said that the most important day of her life was when she learned her name. For in that moment, she realized she was part of the world — distinct, known, and connected. Like Strickland, she understood that identity is not given by accident, but by love. Every name, every story, carries within it the fingerprints of those who shaped us. To forget or misname another is to forget that sacred link; to honor it is to keep memory alive.

Thus, the lesson of Strickland’s story is both simple and profound: know your name, and honor its story. Remember where you come from, and carry that heritage with gratitude and pride — but also with kindness, patience, and humor. When others fail to understand your journey, do not be angered; instead, be a teacher of your own story. In this way, you do not lose the meaning of your name — you give it life anew.

And so, my children of the present age, when you speak your name, speak it as a blessing. When you hear another’s, listen as though it were a poem. For each name, like KaDee, holds a tale — of fathers and mothers, of beginnings and dreams. Guard that story. Celebrate it. And when the world forgets to “capitalize your D,” smile, and remember that what gives your name power is not how others write it, but how you live it.