What's My Name? The Origins of Themi
- Themi Alexandra
- May 21
- 8 min read
I love a novelty coffee mug. They are one of my preferred souvenirs to remember my travels by but I don’t buy one everywhere I go because I don’t have the cabinet space to support that habit. So I buy one when the mug finds me.
I have a mug with my Greek name on it, Efthemia. I got it on the island of Tinos a good 15 years ago. My mom found it because lord knows I can’t read the Greek alphabet. I wanted it immediately because Themi was never a name you could find on a license plate key chain or any other truck stop souvenir growing up, so to not only find my name, but my Greek name, SOLD!
GROWING UP THEMI
Ethemia was used sparingly growing up: whether my parents were trying to make a point or my grandparents were being extra affectionate. 99.9% of the time I go by Themi. And I love Themi with the brief exception of fourth grade when I pinned for an American name like Stephanie. Not only was it popular then but it was also the name of Michelle Pfeiffer's character in Grease 2.
Herewith my hottest of hot takes: I prefer Grease 2 to Grease. There I said it. I recognize its shortcomings but I love it because I saw it first. It was possibly my first movie musical and just about the coolest movie I had ever seen. People just bust into song at the bowling alley - AWESOME! I want to go there and wear gold lame spandex like Paulette! This was the bowling alley of my dreams.
Speaking of dreams, many of my romantic notions of a man on a motorcycle are a product of Grease 2 and its greatest musical number, “Cool Rider.” (If you haven’t had the pleasure, I’ll leave this here and you can thank me later). There’s Stepahnie looking impossibly cool in all black, straddling a ladder like it’s her job, and telling the world how all she wants is a C-O-O-L, R-I-D-E-R, as she sings, “a man cool enough he can burn me through and through.” Me too girl, me too.
Like most childhood whims, Stephanie was a phase. Looking back it was less about the name and more about wanting to assimilate and be like everyone else with their recognizable names and license plate keychains. Even my older siblings got more palatable names: Alex, Elena, Diana. I mean Diana had a world famous princess in common. Not to mention my best friend shared her first and middle name with the most famous woman on the planet at the time, Pamela Denise Anderson. Those things matter as a kid, because you just want to feel like you fit in. I was given a comrade in arms when my younger sister was born and named Evanthe or Evie for short.
As I grew up I realized I was never meant to fit in. I was born different. My physical difference shaped who I became, how I see the world, and how I treat other people. I wouldn’t be who I am without my disability or my given name. My name suits me perfectly. I love it because it is different. But what I love most about my name is where it came from.
IT’S A FAMILY NAME
I am named after the men who helped give my parents life and I think that’s special. In Greek culture family names are the tradition. The particular order is that the first child gets paternal grandfather as a first name and father’s name as a middle name (Alexander George). The second child is named after the maternal and paternal grandmothers (Elena Diane). The third child is named after the paternal and maternal grandmothers (Diana Helene). Since two and three are a combination of the same names you can use variations of the namesake, in this case, Helen and Diane. And the fourth child (that’s me) gets the maternal and paternal grandfather's names (Themi Alexandra). The pattern stops at four, so when my mom had her fifth child, she finally got her own namesake after birthing all those kids (Evanthe Lynn), hooray for mom!
Themi. After my Papou Ed, Edward Limperis.
Yes, Themi comes from Ed. Edward in Greek is Ethemios. The female version of Ethemios is Efthemia or Themi in English. Ed liked his cigarettes long, Benson and Hedges 100s, and his Cadillacs cordovan, with both the exterior and interior that deep burgundy of a man’s dress shoe. Maybe it was his Cadillac, gold chain, or his diamond and ruby pinky ring, but Ed had gangster energy. He was a man of few words, a hearty laugh, and mustache that looked so at home you would have thought he was born with one. He was a purple heart WWII veteran: a hard ass with a heart of gold. And the man had style coming out of that pinky ring. He was tall and lean, a fitting hanger for clothes. I’ll never forget the first time he wore blue jeans in his 60s. They were a light denim that he wore with white leather loafers and a white polo that popped against his olive skin and white hair.
I still melt when I hear his voice calling me “dollymou” which is Greeklish - mixing dolly and “koukla mou” which is Greek for my dolly. His voice rings in my mind as clear as a bell and makes me feel like a little girl. I felt so incredibly loved when that man called me dollymou and gave me a kiss with his white whiskers rough against my soft cheek. He was the first grandparent I lost at 19 and I only wish I got more time with him.
Alexandra. After my Papou Al, Alexander George Psarras.
Al was an exacting man who only wore the color brown and did his taxes by hand because his mind was quicker than a calculator. And I’m dead serious about the color brown. He would boast that he owned 13 pairs of brown shoes and the only time he wore a black shoe was the day he got married. Hie one exception to color in his many years was an emerald green sweatshirt that he exclusively wore to cut the grass and trim his hedges, which he famously did with a manual clipper and the lines were so clean you could straight razor a beard with them.
The other thing Al didn’t own was a pair of blue jeans. Like many men of the greatest generation he found them too casual. When he did lawnwork in his infamous green sweatshirt he wore it with a fedora and a pair of chinos. Papou Al was so rich in character and idiosyncrasies that he would be a perfect foil to a Frank Costanza or a Lou Sedaris. The first time I read David Sedaris I felt like I already knew his dad Lou because there’s something about Greek men of that generation...they gave ZERO fucks before that phrase was even a thing.
I can still hear the way he would pick up the phone or greet me as I came in their back door, “Hiya, Them!” with his eyes smiling in greeting. I got so much more time with him than Ed, not just because he lived across the street, but because he lived to 94. His longevity made his death even harder because when someone is a part of your life for that long, it’s inconceivable to imagine your life without them.
“I heard you die twice, once when they bury you in the grave / And the second time is the last time that somebody mentions your name.” The first time I heard this lyric I was on the elliptical and I damn near fell off because it resonated so deeply. Yes, Macklemore, I second that emotion. Hearing it put that way made me realize why I love my name so much. Every time someone says it my Papou Ed lives on. It’s why my handle and blog are both my names. I want them both to live on.
NEVER MET ANOTHER
Back when there was a thriving Greektown in Chicago (RIP South Halsted St) my family was a mainstay. Like clockwork, Saturday night my dad would drive our immediate family outta the burbs and into the city for dinner on Halsted Street. Anytime there was a special occasion you could find the extended family at Santorini, Roditys, or Greek Islands (even if Papou Al was adamant the kitchen at the Lombard location was better).
In Chicago I feel like a Greek American. In Athens I feel like an American with a Greek name.
At home I have an inflated sense of my ethnicity because of my name: Themi Psarras. As I like to say, guilty on both counts. I’ve got you coming and going with unpronounceable names. Themi seems easy enough but I’ve heard it all. From Sunny or Bunny over the phone to Temi in person. One of my college roommates couldn’t remember my name for weeks after meeting me and would jokingly call me Tumi, Mavi, or any four letter brand name ending in “i.”
The same roommate wouldn’t even attempt my last name. Which is how she started calling me “T. Rex” as a nickname because she thought Themi Psarras when said quickly was akin to a dinosaur species. Joanna wasn’t alone. I can count on one hand the number of times my last name has been attempted in a professional setting. Most people don’t even try.
All that matters is I love my names. I love where they come from. I appreciate that they are uncommon. Themi is not a common Greek name like Maria or Sophia. I’ve never met another. So imagine my surprise when a salon opened up in my hometown called Salon Efthemia! I was in my 20s and tickled! I’ve never met the owner but I hear she goes by Effie instead of Themi. Tomato, tomatoe. I love Themi. It suits me.
ATHENIAN THEMI
A Greek friend and famous chef recommended a few restaurants in Athens and one was only a short walk from my apartment. On my first day here I walked over to make a reservation. When they asked for my name, unconsciously I responded with Ethemia. No blank stare, no can you spell that. Simply the next question: surname? Without hesitating, I responded with the Greek pronunciation of my last name. It was the first time I haven’t felt awkward giving my last name. I usually have to give a "Hooked On Phonics" demo after sharing - trying to explain how “Ps” is one letter in Greek so you pronounce both together. There was none of that. It felt right.
The next night, I returned to Dylan for my dinner reservation. I got a great table outside overlooking the lively plaza. A menu is placed down as water is brought to the table. It is covered in black and white photos of infamous rock stars and says “Where food is the music of life.” This is when I realized it is named after the one and only Bob Dylan. I immediately felt at ease. Even if the waitstaff and I had limited conversation, I felt at home knowing we shared the love of music.
Our other common interest: whipped feta. My mouth was singing when I paired it with their homemade sourdough bread. As I waited for my next plate a woman at the opposite table asked me a question in Greek. On the one hand I was elated that was passing for a local. On the other hand, I was flustered that I didn’t understand. So I used a word I know well in Greek “sygnomi” (sorry) and then said in English that I don’t speak Greek.
She knew more English than my Greek so we chatted for a bit and shared names. When I said Efthemia, she told me it means to be happy all the time. I told her that was funny because I’m happy most of the time and she said, “you seem it.” And just like that on my second day I learend something new about my name. I've always associated it with my papou and the goddess of justice (also Efthemia). I love this new dimension.
In Athens I am Ethemia. I am trying her on for the month. Ethemia Alexandra Psarras and proud of it.
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