By Joel Schwartzberg

When I was my son's age, my friends had wild and crazy names like Scott, Michael, David…Michael, Matthew…and Scott.

Alright, so the names weren't so unique. If one of them had been named Aidan, he would have stood out like a spotted zebra. Of course, today, you can't throw a pacifier in town without smacking an Aidan in the head. Or a Madison. Or an Ethan. These are unquestionably great names; they're just also quite popular now, according to the most recent figures from the U.S. Social Security Administration.

Choosing a distinctive but acceptable name for your child can be a tricky business. Go too conservative and your child may be lost in a sea of Jakes and Emilys. Go with a wild name and you've now scripted the second sentence he will tell every new person he meets for as long as he lives: "Yes, it's Zeus." And the third: "I think my parents were high."

Even kids’ TV characters get atypical names. Caillou, Dora, Loonette, Jetta, and Barney didn't even crack the top 1,000 list. Clifford normally squeaks in, but I suspect Emily Elizabeth may have charmed some of the Social Security officials with a Speckle story or two.

In the Jewish religion, it's traditional to name your child after a relative who's passed away. In my case, that would have left me with "Irving," "Ray," "Sylvia," and "Ruby." Somewhere in the Old Testament it goes on to say: "Alright, so just use the first letter if you're in a jam." Later, it allows you to go with rhyming letters, and ultimately cuts you loose with, "Oy! Just don't name the kid Chris or Mary, okay? Can you just do that?"

Celebrities take their child-naming duties to the extreme. Eyebrow-raising celebrity baby names include Apple, Banjo, Kal-El, Poet, Inspektor, Moxie CrimeFighter, Junior, Pirate, Phineas, and Zen. The Hollywood phone directory will soon read like a conference of mutant superheroes. These poor babies can't do anything about their names because in addition to not having voices, they also don't have lawyers.

Famous people often believe they are immune to the consequences of carelessness. But you can't change someone's name like you can the color of your dining room. And when Kal-El and Apple are cringing at their own graduation ceremonies, they'll have only their appropriately-named parents—Nicholas and Gwyneth, respectively—to blame.

One thing first-time parents eventually learn is that kids' names morph. Pristine and sacred as they are when a child is first born, they are quickly transformed into lazy versions of their former selves. My daughter's name, Josie, just for example, quickly became Jo, Jo-Jo, JoJoBean, Jobina, and Jobah. Her sister, Mylie, transformed seemingly overnight into Milo, Mylar and Mylinka. My son Evan had to put up with monikers like Ev, Evie, Evster or Evino. I'm not even counting "buddy," "chief," "big guy" and other constitutionally protected tough-guy references to male offspring by their proud Dads. What is it that compels us to stray easily from the names we so carefully researched, debated, and selected? I suspect it's just another futile attempt by parent-kind to attach words to a bond that transcends labeling in the first place.

In truth, a person isn't identified by his name; the name takes on the personality of the person. This is how the name Barry can be comfortably shared by people as diverse as Barry Manilow and Barry White. Richard by Burton and Simmons. George by a U.S. President and a curious monkey. Numerous baby-naming resources list famous first names, but there will likely be no net effect of your child sharing a name with someone who has sat on Oprah's couch for one reason or another.

My kids seem to be fine with their names, though my son has lost all feeling in his pinkie finger after writing Schwartzberg repeatedly at the top of his homework. The point is this: I haven't yet met a parent who's regretted his or her choice, so it's likely you can do no wrong. Remember what Shakespeare said: "What's in a name? That which we call a Rose by any other name would smell as sweet." It's true. Even if that Rose were named Ashley (and even if sometimes she smelled like baby powder and poop), she would still be just as sweet.