When I was a waitress in the late 80's, I put a fake name on my name tag. As much as I hated being called "sweetheart," I hated it more when drunk men assumed familiarity and called me by my real name.
I felt like if someone knew your name they could look you up in the phone book, and now they knew your name, your number, and your address! I didn't like feeling like strangers had that power. Fast forward thirty years, and it's not too hard to "know" an awful lot about a person from their social media footprint. Names matter.
I felt like if someone knew your name they could look you up in the phone book, and now they knew your name, your number, and your address! I didn't like feeling like strangers had that power. Fast forward thirty years, and it's not too hard to "know" an awful lot about a person from their social media footprint. Names matter.
POWER
The power of a name became a theme for me.Odysseus is able to escape Polyphemus' cave through name-trickery, but he can't resist telling the cyclops his real name, and that is how Polyphemus is able to ask Poseidon to curse Odysseus ... because he knows his name.
There is a scene in West Wing where the president asks his childhood priest to call him "Mr President" while they're in the Oval Office, to distinguish the person from the position. After a deep and difficult discussion about capital punishment, the priest says, "Jed, would you like me to hear your confession?" and the relationship shifts again.
Just that easily, names define relationships on a personal level. Mom, Grandma, Sis, Scooter, some names are reserved for special relationships. Call me Rebecca, Becca, Becster, whatever, but don't call me Becky. And since Rebecca is my middle name, if you ask for me by my first name, you really don't know who you're calling for. {click} <--- that sound effect is for anyone I didn't lose with my late-80's-phone-book reference.
Think of a time when you've called someone "Dr So-and-so" and they responded with "please call me Bob." It changes the nature of the relationship, that person has invited you into a more familiar tone. Likewise, a professional has every right to insist "that's Dr Expert, if you please," when the situation calls for it. I prefer Ms/Mrs/Miss Phillips in the classroom, and I work very hard to call my students what they want to be called - to learn their names, but also to get the pronunciation right. It matters to me, and I hope it communicates the respect I have for them as individuals and within our relationship.
There is a scene in West Wing where the president asks his childhood priest to call him "Mr President" while they're in the Oval Office, to distinguish the person from the position. After a deep and difficult discussion about capital punishment, the priest says, "Jed, would you like me to hear your confession?" and the relationship shifts again.
Just that easily, names define relationships on a personal level. Mom, Grandma, Sis, Scooter, some names are reserved for special relationships. Call me Rebecca, Becca, Becster, whatever, but don't call me Becky. And since Rebecca is my middle name, if you ask for me by my first name, you really don't know who you're calling for. {click} <--- that sound effect is for anyone I didn't lose with my late-80's-phone-book reference.
Think of a time when you've called someone "Dr So-and-so" and they responded with "please call me Bob." It changes the nature of the relationship, that person has invited you into a more familiar tone. Likewise, a professional has every right to insist "that's Dr Expert, if you please," when the situation calls for it. I prefer Ms/Mrs/Miss Phillips in the classroom, and I work very hard to call my students what they want to be called - to learn their names, but also to get the pronunciation right. It matters to me, and I hope it communicates the respect I have for them as individuals and within our relationship.
Two tweets
I've thought a lot about this just this past week, because of two different tweets that resonated with me:
My title is Dr Fern Riddell, not Ms or Miss Riddell. I have it because I am an expert, and my life and career consist of being that expert in as many different ways as possible. I worked hard to earned my authority, and I will not give it up to anyone.
— Dr Fern Riddell (@FernRiddell) June 13, 2018
Teacher claims he was forced to resign for not using transgender students' preferred names >> https://t.co/sHVokwLNW6 pic.twitter.com/nzOirnAYfU
— WAFF 48 (@waff48) June 10, 2018
They seem loosely related at the surface level, but they got me thinking again about names, and the power of names ... the ways the choices we make (as well as the concessions) define our relationships and respect for one another.
TWO anecdotes
One: The students were working on the bellringer and I was taking roll, quietly reading off names as I noted their presence. Soon after I said "Molly," I noticed a murmur at a table nearby. "Molly? Who's Molly?" volleyed around a bit, soon followed by "Oh, she means Thomas" and "oh, right ... Thomas."
Later, a private conversation with Thomas cleared up a lot of things, including preferred name and pronouns, and also the fact that he hadn't shared this with the adults in his life because he hadn't shared it with his parents. We established that I could call him Thomas, but we would both use his "given" name on anything formal. I thanked him for trusting me and allowing me "in."
But what REALLY stuck me as I thought about the whole thing weeks later was how readily the students in the school had gone along with his request. As they were making sense of my misstep, there was no eye-rolling, no judgment, just acceptance. It made me glad for my community of learners and the ways that they love each other just as they are. Say what you want about teaching tolerance, but these kids have got this one figured out.
Two: When I go over the roster on the first day of school, I make a big deal about asking the students how they want to be addressed. One girl said, "Call me Junebug" which seemed like a natural nickname for Jennifer, so I wrote it down and dutifully did. By the second semester, I was still calling her "Junebug" even though no one else was, including several girls she played volleyball with. They seemed tight, so I started to wonder if she'd just been pulling my leg.
I sat down across the table from where she was working and asked "Do you still want me to call you Junebug?" and she said yes. I said, "OK, because I was noticing that no one else calls you that," and she said - without looking up - "my family does."
And just like that, I was family.
Later, a private conversation with Thomas cleared up a lot of things, including preferred name and pronouns, and also the fact that he hadn't shared this with the adults in his life because he hadn't shared it with his parents. We established that I could call him Thomas, but we would both use his "given" name on anything formal. I thanked him for trusting me and allowing me "in."
But what REALLY stuck me as I thought about the whole thing weeks later was how readily the students in the school had gone along with his request. As they were making sense of my misstep, there was no eye-rolling, no judgment, just acceptance. It made me glad for my community of learners and the ways that they love each other just as they are. Say what you want about teaching tolerance, but these kids have got this one figured out.
Two: When I go over the roster on the first day of school, I make a big deal about asking the students how they want to be addressed. One girl said, "Call me Junebug" which seemed like a natural nickname for Jennifer, so I wrote it down and dutifully did. By the second semester, I was still calling her "Junebug" even though no one else was, including several girls she played volleyball with. They seemed tight, so I started to wonder if she'd just been pulling my leg.
I sat down across the table from where she was working and asked "Do you still want me to call you Junebug?" and she said yes. I said, "OK, because I was noticing that no one else calls you that," and she said - without looking up - "my family does."
And just like that, I was family.