Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.
The name Peter comes from the Greek Πέτρος (Petros), meaning “rock” or “stone.” It’s one of those names with an instant personality attached to it: steady, solid, dependable. It also how the ancient city of Petra got its name — same Greek word, different purpose.
I’ve been called a few variations of it over the years. Peter in normal conversation. Pete by family. Petros by classmates when I was learning Greek at theological college. Pedro by the occasional wag who thought they were being clever. I’ve even been called Pierre by a Francophile. For some reason, though, never Piers. I’m happy with any of them, as long as it’s friendly. I’m not into Petey.
That Greek link eventually became a workplace compliment. In Greek class, “Petros” was just banter. Years later, a colleague picked up the same thread—without the Greek lessons. When I took over as head of my team, he started referring to the meaning of my name as if it explained everything. ‘The Rock’. He did it with a grin, like he’d found a shortcut to leadership development: name meaning equals job description. I appreciated the joke. And it’s not completely wrong. I’m usually calm in most settings, and at work people often come to me when they’re wrestling with a problem and need a steadying perspective. I’m okay with that. If it helps people, I’m glad to be that person.
When I was young, “Peter” was a popular name—popular enough that my street had to develop a system. The street I grew up in was full of boys. In a 100 metre stretch from our house to the nearest cross-street there were 24 children under the age of ten: 19 boys and 5 girls. Among them were two Peters and two Roberts, so we became “Big” and “Little” for the sake of clarity. I was Little Peter, because I was a couple of years younger than Big Peter. The irony, of course, is that I eventually grew to be just over six feet tall. “Little Peter” is one of those childhood labels that refuses to be updated. Big Robert was my closest friend.
These days the name feels less common. In the college where I work, I’m the only Peter out of 350 people. It’s a small sign of how times have changed.
Apparently I was named after a friend of my father’s from his Air Force days. His name was Peter, my father liked him, and he liked the name. That’s the end of the connection. I never met his friend, and they lost contact decades ago. Still, the name stuck. And the nicknames came with it—Peter, Pete, Petros, Pedro, Pierre—fine by me, as long as it’s said with warmth.
The Afterword 
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