The Girl with Too Many Names

A Little Story About a Very Big Nickname.

Before I Knew Your Name Had a Sound

I’ll admit something right out of the gate.

The first time I heard your name, I didn’t think “Italian heritage” or “Cleveland street with history.”

I thought Motown.

Like you were supposed to come with a harmony and a spotlight.

Rondelle sounded like you should’ve been standing behind a microphone in 1965, harmonizing in a matching dress, stepping side to side with two other girls named something equally smooth. I half expected you to introduce your backup singers and launch into a chorus.

“The Rondelles.”

Tell me that doesn’t sound like they had at least one hit.

So no, I did not picture a Sicilian dad driving through Collinwood thinking, “That’s it. That’s my daughter’s name. Rondel Road.”

But honestly, that story might be even better.

Because somewhere between a Cleveland street sign and a Motown fantasy, you ended up with a name that nobody shortens casually… which is probably why it took a small child and a little improvisation from me to change everything.

Where It Quietly Started

Nicknames don’t arrive with announcements.

They sneak in sideways, usually when no one’s paying attention.

Christine couldn’t quite land “Auntie Rondelle,” and in one of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments, I said, “Delle.” No planning. No strategy. Just instinct and a little assist from Lenny under pressure.

What I didn’t realize was that “Delle” wasn’t the final stop.

It was just the beginning.

Because once a name softens, it keeps going.

Delle turned into Delly.

Delly turned into Dellybean.

And somewhere along the way, it all got distilled down to its simplest, most honest form…

Bean.

Now here’s where it gets interesting.

You once told me your maiden name, Cicirelli, translates to little chi chi beans.

I mean… come on.

That’s not coincidence. That’s a breadcrumb trail the universe has been leaving your whole life, just waiting for someone like me to connect the dots and act like I planned it all along.

And here’s the other thing about Bean.

It fits everywhere it needs to.

Beanie Baby. Jellybean. Coffee bean. Just “Bean,” said a certain way depending on the moment.

Playful when it needs to be. Soft when it matters. Familiar without ever feeling ordinary.

It somehow manages to be all of those things at once… and honestly, it feels a lot like you. I see you in every version of it. The playful one, the steady one, the one that shows up without being asked, and the one that still finds a way to laugh in the middle of everything. That’s why it sticks… not just because it sounds right, but because it feels like you.

Growing Into My Own Name

I didn’t always appreciate names the way I do now.

Growing up, Leonard felt like too much. Too formal. Too serious. Like I should already have a mortgage and strong opinions about interest rates at age ten.

I was shy enough without carrying a name that sounded like I was born at a board meeting, and if I’m being honest, it embarrassed me a little.

I wanted something easier. Something that didn’t make me feel like I had to live up to it before I even knew who I was.

Down here in Florida, though, something shifted.

Leonard turned into Lenny.

And suddenly I wasn’t the only one. There are Lennys everywhere down here. Mostly New York transplants. East coast guys who’ve traded snow shovels for golf carts and still order breakfast like they’ve been coming to the same diner since 1978.

Somehow, hearing my name come from them made it feel lighter.

Familiar.

Mine.

And then I learned I was named after Sister Mary Leonard, the principal at St. Mary Magdalene back in Willowick.

Which explains a lot, honestly.

A name with that kind of origin was never meant to be small… it just needed time to grow into me.

The Quiet Things That Stick

That’s the thing about names.

The ones we’re given are just the beginning, but the ones that matter most are shaped over time. Passed between people. Softened by laughter. Earned in quiet moments.

Bean isn’t just a nickname.

It’s a landing place.

It’s the version of you that doesn’t need to carry the full weight of “Rondelle,” even though she absolutely could.

It’s warmth. It’s familiarity. It’s the version of you that shows up with a full heart, takes care of her mama without hesitation, and somehow still finds a way to laugh in the middle of everything.

It’s small, but not in a diminishing way.

Small like something you hold onto.

Something you don’t toss around carelessly.

Something you don’t hand out to just anyone.

And maybe that’s my favorite part.

You didn’t really have a shortened nickname before.

Not one that stayed.

Until now.

Where It Lands

So yes, Rondelle will always be your name.

It came from a street in Collinwood. It carries history. It has that unmistakable rhythm that made me think you were one step away from a Motown record deal.

And Delle was the doorway.

But Dellybean…

That one has a heartbeat.

And Bean?

That one sticks.

Not because I say so.

Just because it already does. 💛