My last name (Kinraid) has caused me unofficial and official grief all my life - except once when it was a positive benefit.
You have Kincaid, Scottish and quite common. You have Kinnaird, also Scottish. Both are also quite common in Ireland for historical reasons which anyone who wishes can find out by LIU.
So I've been Kincaid, Kinnaird, Kinaid, Kinkaid, Kirland, Kirkland, and half a dozen more than I've long since forgotten.
Family legend has it that the name is Manx in origin, presumably partially left behind by various invading forces with murderous intent, like Tottenham fans after a match. I've never been able to find any corroborating evidence. I'd say it was destroyed long ago by the Spurs fans surrogates.
Mostly it's caused me inconvenience, like my first passport having my name incorrectly spelled, like hesitation at school when names were being read out. My nickname was "Kinky", not because of what I did (I wish!) but because of That Name.
My name has been crossed out, dropped off, passed over, laughed at or ignored by various official and non-government bodies. The one time it worked in my favour was the 18-year-old ballot for national service. The army (bless its ignorant, murderous heart) dropped my name out of the ballot because they didn't believe it was real. Even then, they screwed up because two days before my eighteenth birthday they dropped national service altogether! They could have at least waited until
after that semi-auspicious event!
