Bena Mae’s Kitchen: What’s in a name?

According to the analysis of the name Bena, the name that has plagued me for my entire life — and I’m surprised I even found it — I learned that I have a sensible nature, that I work best when I am not rushed, and that I appreciate home and settled conditions.
This is true for the most part. But it doesn’t tell the whole story. I learned recently that my mother chose the name after she had seen a cute little baby named Bena Mae and decided she would call me that a few months before I was born. Would that the baby’s name had been Jane, Anne, Mary or some other pronounceable name that wouldn’t cause me years of correcting someone’s mispronunciation of seven simple letters, Bena Mae.
Even on my birth certificate I received from Frankfort when I applied for a passport, my name was spelled incorrectly. So was the name of my father which made me question my real parentage, but realizing that records were not as scrupulously kept as they are today (really?) I let it go.
In school it was a nightmare, especially on the first day when it came time for the new teacher to call the roll. When she got to my name, she would hesitate, make several tries and finish by calling me Betty, Billie, Bennie or some other name not even close. I would cringe, knowing that the eyes of the whole class were on me, something that every student fears — every young child seeks anonymity on the first day of school. They don’t want to be singled out, made the butt of a joke.
It was like this every new school year, a new teacher, the roll call, my sitting with my shoulders hunched, my hands over my face, waiting for the ultimate embarrassment I knew was coming. And it never failed to happen.
Eventually, the teachers dropped my first name and began calling me by my last name “Estep.” I didn’t like being called “Estep” when I was called on to go to the board or answer a question. It was like losing my identity, my birth name. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of my last name, but I didn’t like being lumped in with a passel of sisters who could answer to the name given them at birth. Why couldn’t Mama have called me Elizabeth, her name and one of my favorites.
But having a name that one can pronounce has saved me from talking to the hoards of telephone solicitors who call asking for Billie Mae, Bertie Mae, Betty Mae Seivers.
“There’s no one here by that name,” I tell them.

Oreo Ice Cream Cake

1/2 cup hot fudge ice cream topping, warmed
1 tub (8 oz.) COOL WHIP Whipped Topping, thawed, divided
1 pkg. (3.9 oz.) JELL-O Chocolate Instant Pudding
8 OREO Cookies, chopped (about 1 cup)
12 vanilla ice cream sandwiches

Pour fudge topping into medium bowl. Whisk in 1 cup Cool Whip.
Add dry pudding mix; stir 2 min. Stir in chopped cookies.
Arrange 4 ice cream sandwiches, side-by-side, on 24-inch-long sheet of foil; top with half the Cool Whip mixture.
Repeat layers. Top with remaining sandwiches.
Frost top and sides with remaining Cool Whip. Bring up foil sides; double fold top and ends to loosely seal packet.