The Name’s Conor. Yes, just Conor. It doesn’t get more plain than Conor. Conor, as plain as a pebble. I would tell you some intriguing story of something interesting happening to me regarding my name, someone horribly mispronounced it or completely butchered it, but the truth is, with a name like Conor, that simply never happens. When a substitute teacher calls attendance she never bats an eye at my name, i’m just another Conor after all. There is no amazing story of the hardships my parents endured by coming to this country, no God coming from the heavens screaming the name “Conor” into their ears. They simply thought it sounded nice. And no, I’m nothing like Conor Mcgregor, that guy would obliterate me in a fight. I can’t really say I feel any sort of prominent emotion towards my name, as I don’t hate it or especially love it.  I’m white and just about five foot eight inches tall. Does that seem especially unorthodox to you? No, in fact I’d say that is about as average as a human can get. Would I be happy if I was blessed with a not-so-ordinary name? Not really. Conor is just a name after all. Does it really mean all that much? When I was younger, I remember some people referring to me as “Con-Man”  I guess it’s definitely an interesting  nickname, although I wouldn't exactly like to be called this anymore though. Overall, my name is plain. That’s just how it is. However, I have accepted this fact and now wear the name “Conor” with great pride. I may be as plain as a blank piece of paper, but that’s who I am.