He who can pronounce my name aright, he can call me, and is entitled to my love and service. – Henry David Thoreau
In the beginning, I was me. For those with non-traditional or unconventional spellings, this isn’t a given. To many, including my grandfather, I was “Jerry.” To others, I was Gary, often with a long a. Although they were not me, answering to any variation was the easiest thing to do.
An identity crisis of sorts develops when trying to fit into the wrong name. Children grow into their personalities and become confident in who they are. Not so with us. We go by different names, each carrying a perception of who we are expected to be. And none of them may actually be us.
It took me a long time to understand and accept that those names were not me. Mispronunciations and confusion are to be expected. Those were among the forces that forged my uniqueness. But I wanted proper recognition for me.
Anyone with a non-traditional name understands. Mistakes are forgivable, but only up to a point.
My work emails included an official signature section at the end that included my name, title, and department. I always ended with an appropriate sign-off such as “Thanks. Gerry.”
A co-worker I had worked with for several years replied to my email with the greeting, “Gary.” I ignored it.
When he asked why I hadn’t replied, I told him he’d sent it to the wrong person.
“But I sent it to Gary,” he said.
“Yes. But that’s not me.”
“Isn’t your name Gary?” I replied adamantly, “No.”
Rather than continuing to devolve into a lame rendition of the classic Abbott & Costello skit, Who’s on First?, I suggested he find the original email and check the name. A few minutes later, he responded with the correct name.
Choosing a name is a heavy responsibility. What if you are wrong? A new baby may look like a “William” in the hospital, but is really a “Shane” when you get home.
What if you forget about all the possibilities for cruel nicknames? Your daughter could be in therapy for decades trying to undo the damage done by your poor choice and lack of forethought.
Naming pets doesn’t have the same time pressure as filling in the blank on your newborn’s birth certificate. You can get away with “cat” or “dog” for a time while you get to know them better.
My cat, River, is named after River Song in Doctor Who. She is bold, flirtatious, resourceful, and determined. Her sly glance always leaves me wondering where I stand even as I express undying gratitude for the privilege of being in her presence.
It took a few weeks to discover who she was. No other name could fit. She is a little vixen who lives up to her namesake admirably.
A person’s name can say a lot about them. My quirky and lovable nephew, Londyn, is tasked with living up to a name that goes against both tradition and convention. He does so proudly.
His sister, Corinne, could never be constrained with two “r”s and only one “n”. She is much too spirited for that.
Names are important. Learn them. Acknowledge them. And then listen carefully. They will tell a lot about the person who owns them.
Yours truly,
Gerry (with a hard “g”)
