What's in a Name?

I once read an article advocating a minimum age requirement for getting a tattoo by comparing body art to a drunken climb up a water tower with a can of spray paint. “At seventeen, you might think it will impress your girlfriend to scrawl her name inside a heart where everyone driving by can enjoy it,” he said. It might demonstrate you’re brave enough to thwart your city’s ordinance against such shenanigans. Water tower graffiti can be painted over, after all. “But inking her name on your bicep at seventeen is a much worse idea.”

Photo by benjamin lehman on Unsplash

The point is whether you can trust a seventeen-year-old to know what’s worth inscribing for posterity and what will be passe by the time the ink dries. Think of the name that girlfriend was blessed with at birth. God help her if she was gifted her Great Aunt Hagatha’s moniker. She’s stuck with it, but you need not be. Presumably, the name was chosen by her parents, honoring a long-dead relative or evoking characteristics of loyalty or good fortune the parents wished for their daughter. Imagine the responsibility.

I would argue the minimum age for tattoos should be even higher than proposed by the aforementioned writer. Consider the former student of mine who turned 18 and immediately got a tattoo, something she’d been denied previously because of her age. What did she choose? Barney the purple dinosaur, because it was her son’s favorite television character. Remember him? Exactly my point. At least her son had a name he’d never be ashamed of. His mom’s bicep? Not so sure.

When I taught teen moms, I was fascinated—and sometimes alarmed—by their deliberations over baby names. Sometimes they asked my opinion, but I remained noncommittal. Instead, I’d smile and say, “That’s a nice name,” and change the subject. The names they suggested were often lovely and creative. But sometimes, they weren’t pronounceable. (Think too many consonants and not enough vowels.)

The primary criteria in many cases was simply how unique a name was. Girls were determined their children would stand out and spent a great deal of time in conversation with their classmates, trying out the sound of names. It was a risk, though. One student who knew of another’s intention to name her child “Passion” beat her to the punch because of an earlier delivery date. The hostility that followed was unbearable. Thank goodness the offended mom was able to conjure up a more creative option within days.

On the other hand, many students went the opposite direction, choosing names like “Sarah” or “Thomas,” because they didn’t call attention. Those moms were well aware of the fact that we all make assumptions about people based on their names. Doing so can be useful or convenient in some circumstances.

However, it’s also true that a name suggesting gender, race, or ethnic identity may trigger biased assumptions, whether they’re consciously applied or not. Ask any job seeker with an unusual name. One Asian student suggested we call her Chi (as in chee), because her name didn’t roll easily off American tongues. Her children have more ordinary names, presumably to deter prejudice or bullying.

Regardless of the names chosen for our students or their babies, I felt an obligation to honor them. I spent hours at the beginning of each semester creating seating charts with each student’s name clearly written in their space. I’d mentally review who sat where before the first couple of class sessions, until I was sure I had them memorized. When their children were born, I’d place the child’s name next to their mom’s on my seating chart and then look for opportunities to use them when they were being breastfed in class or toddling through the halls.

A name embodies the hopes and dreams of a parent for a child and saying that name implies respect. While I picked up a lot more wisdom from my students in the eight years I was their teacher, this was one value I brought with me to the classroom in 2007:  Names are important. Learn them, and then use them.