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I was deeply honoured when my Father and his wife said they had put my name on their paperwork so that if anything happened to them whilst my brothers were under eighteen then I would be the one to look after them and their interests.It was a massive compliment, my Dad has sisters and other family but they agreed with each other that I seemed the most capable normal one… out of all of them, hence the reason they asked me if I would mind.Of course I didn't. I nearly snapped their hand of because it was such a compliment and I love my little bro’s so it wouldn't have been a problem if I'd been called to enact godparent duties.Its nice, it's a great honour indeed to feel entrusted with the lives of their children, I think it's one of the greatest compliments I've received, for that sentiment alone.

It is ultimately the choice of the individual to be baptised.According to the relevant Archbishopic of Athens webpage (in Greek) for example, all the paperwork has to be submitted in advance by the convert. This will naturally have to include the name to be given, before this happens however the new convert will have to liaise with their local parson, which may of course influence their decision.Furthermore, the godparent (ανάδοχος - anadochos) traditionally has the responsibility of providing catechism to the new convert and this potentially includes the possibility of suggesting a name.It must be noted however that despite the fact that during the mystery the godparent is asked to provide the name to the priest, the priest will respect whatever name was provided with the paperwork; this wasn’t always the case in the past and anecdotally many family feuds have started when the wrong name was given or even misheard by the priest.In my personal experience, most people choose their own names based on the following factors:Similarity to their previous name, how it sounds or what it means.Picking the name of a figure they admire, often the godparent, a celebrity or a saint.Selecting a name that is easy to pronounce and remember or complements their last name. This could involve selecting a diminutive first and then going for the relevant christian name, e.g. Katia from Aikaterini.By the way, converts from other Christian denominations would usually keep their names or just change them to the local variant, if a common saint exists (e.g George to Georgios). In some cases, like converts from Roman Catholicism, baptism is not required anyway and only the mystery of Chrismation (Confirmation) needs to take place.

Family is everything. It was hammered into my head and stuck there like a bad pop song most of my life. We laughed and we cried and told great stories of our love and dedication and everything was great with the world.We will always be there for you to hold you through the hard times . . . unless someone dies of course, but don’t worry, THAT never happens.Turns out, people do die. They die all the time actually. My mom died when I was 16 years old. My brother was 14 and my sister was 18. The way I remember the feeling after her funeral was this big ugly elephant in the room that just went “now what?”My family disappeared and that’s when I realized all the kumbaya’s were lies and we were as dysfunctional as they come. Just for clarification by family I mean my mother’s only 2 sisters, my mother’s father, and my father. In fact, the only people that didn’t disappear were the ones that died and my siblings.I saw, with my own two eyes, my father sign his rights away to my mother’s childhood friend and her husband (my godparents).I heard, with my own two ears, my father lie to my face. He said “I just need to get a few things together. I’ll be back in a few months and you guys can come live with me.” I felt it was a lie but I refused to believe it. I didn’t want to live with strangers and the only sanity I felt I had lied in the hope that all of this would be over and I could live with my dad and be somewhat normal. I just looked at him and asked two questions:“Can we have cable TV?”“Can I have my own room?”I never had my own room. It was fun to dream. I was always escaping ugly realities to visions in my head.I felt, with my own beating heart, pain, loneliness, and confusion before I even showed up on the first day at my new school. My mother hadn’t even been dead a month and I was thrown into a new life with only what we could fit in my godparents’ car as a scarce reminder of my past. It still feels like I lived two lives, pre and post mom’s death. There’s a clear divide.13 years later it still makes me cringe when people ask why I moved in with my mother’s friends after she died. I just say “Well they really wanted us.” It’s the truth, but sometimes I’m saddened that they didn’t even have to fight. Hell, the only reason they had to say anything at all was because paperwork was involved. Otherwise, we could have disappeared in the night and I wonder if anyone would have even noticed.The first Thanksgiving without my mom was the hardest. She died in October. In November, our first holiday without her, we spent it meeting our new family. I remember thinking that I hated everyone there. That I didn’t want to be in this new family. They were nice, but I was a hormonal teenager and I wanted MY family.It was a tough time, those first few years. To be fair, I had some contact with my family a year or so after she died but it was sporadic and I never remember it being anything they initiated. It was sort “Call me if you need me!” You know the typical response you give one of your co-workers when they take off for bereavement. Polite and available, but very convenient.I am forever humbled by the fact that someone saw value in us; someone didn’t want us to be forgotten. My mother’s friend and her husband took me and my brother in and got us through high school. There are not enough Christmas presents or hugs or kisses I can give to repay them for what they did. Then again, even if I could, they probably wouldn’t take it. They are more selfless than any two people I had ever known. If I knew then what I know now, how much of a sacrifice they really made, I would have gotten better grades, and kept my room cleaner just to make it easier on them. My mom might not have had the best family, but she did a damn good job picking her friends.I always did love watching cable TV in my own room there. God bless em.