That’s my mother’s maiden name. It is also my first name. It’s a strange name, often mistaken. It is not
Bryce, Brig, Brick, Bridge, Bricks or even Prince as one old man misheard.
This was one of many choices for my name. Most were nearly as strange, though I still would have prefered nearly all of them.
Ronan, Cadmium, Van, Rory and one of my dad’s favorites - Boy.
But my great grandmother had a dream before my birth that I would be Briggs, and so it was.
I don’t like my name. It doesn’t fit me.
But as the Bard would say,
A Briggs by any other name would still be a fool.