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I’m 76 years old, and my parents named me Mary Virginia after several relatives on my mother’s side of the family. It wasn’t until I moved south to Atlanta that a girl in high school started introducing me to classmates as Ginny…she said, after all, I was now in the south. In my very early years, the nuns in a Catholic elementary school in New Orleans called me Mary Virginia. Family and friends only called me Virginia. I was delighted when my dad was transferred to Jax, FL…I dropped the Mary. When my dad was transferred again to Kansas City, I was Virginia. Dad transferred once again to Atlanta, and the school friend started calling me Ginny, I stuck with that. So, to this day, I’m called Ginny. Still, family calls me Virginia. Old habits are hard to break.