Name Calling

What's in a name? Quite a bit, as Lirio Hittle discovered when she changed her first name.

“It’s very simple, Mom,” says my old-lady daughter, wise beyond her years. “You ask someone what their name is, and then you call them by that name.”

  We were talking after I changed my name over a year ago. Even though I thought of it as a "soft launch," I learned it’s not that simple to change a name, and I’m not talking legalites.

What you call someone is not just a name, a rose that still smells as sweet (which may be fine for a rose, but not for a person). It is something very powerful.

You tell someone what your name is, and, if it’s unusual, they ask you a ton of questions about it. Some questions have been more than the usual 'why did you change your name' kind of thing. In two situations I was caught unawares, one in a good way and one that left me somewhat bristly.

First the bristly situation. “What’s your name,” asked the well-meaning lady of a certain age (older than my certain age). We were planting daffodils at the time. Lirio, I said. When she asked me what it meant, I explained that it is the name of a tree native to the eastern U.S. The Latin or botanical name is Liriodendron tulipifera — literally, the tulip bearing lily tree. A cousin of the magnolia. Only two species in the genus — one in China, one in North America. No recognition on the well-meaner’s face, I was not making a connection here. We were planting in a tree conservancy, mind you. Okay, I thought, wrong audience to go on about the tulip tree and its general wonderfulness.

Rather than letting it go, she came back with: “Why do you have a name like that? Do others in your family have names like that?”  That was an odd set of questions, and I was starting to feel poked at. I didn’t call her out, but dodged her volley — hey, Copernicus and Linnaeus changed their names, why shouldn’t I? But really, I was thinking — is she trying to tell me something?

I asked my wise daughter what she thought was going on, and her take on it validated what I was feeling. “That was almost racist, mom. She was saying: but you’re Indian, why do you have a non-Indian name? You need to have an Indian name because that’s how I see you, and that’s where you belong.” The well-meaner needed to put me back in a box that she could decipher.

Indians do have non-Indian names, in case you’re wondering. Lots of Tanyas, Natashas, and Sonyas dot the landscape. At the Sun Temple in Konark, in India, my haole-looking daughter was asked her name. She startled the crowd by responding with her Sanskrit-based name. Then a mum volunteered her little Indian-looking girl’s name: Sweetie. 

We all laughed with delight—a lot of prejudices were broken that day, on both sides.

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Name changes are more common than you might think. Through the decades, residents of the U.S. voluntarily assumed new surnames for better job opportunities and to escape discrimination.

People in the Jewish community adopted less ethnic sounding names in the early to mid 1900s. A quick search on the internet showed that several name changes happened after 9-11-2001, particularly in the Arab-American community.

Modern day immigrants continue to change their names for the same reasons, to avoid discrimination and embrace opportunities. Indian friends have changed their names to Buddy, Jodi, and Mike as they try to fit into medical, financial, and engineering professions. My students from China chose names like Chandler from the '90s TV show Friends. Not surprisingly, going the other way — from non-ethnic name to ethnic — is less common, but still happens, as in the case of Barry to Barack Obama.

“When you changed your name, did you feel different?” asked an octogenarian friend of mine. Now that was an intriguing question. I perked up and paid attention. She was asking, she said, because when her husband died, she was only in her forties. She felt alone and helpless. Changing her name back to the one she had before marriage made her feel more powerful. 

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So, do I feel like a different person? After living in my adopted country for 40 years, I have to say yes, and I wanted a name that fit the new person.

At first, it took some courage to say I wanted to change my name because there is considerable pressure to stay in your lane. Loyalty issues are brought up – how can you turn your back on the country of your birth, people ask. You can’t negate what you once were, those are your roots, said one of my besties.

A given name ties you to the past — the most obvious attempt by your parents to put an indelible mark on you. A name you select for yourself links you to the present and future.

Choosing a name for myself made me feel a bit like a rebellious teen. Particularly because Liriodendron was one of the liberty trees grown in defiance of colonial rule. Tallest of the eastern hardwoods, it grows fast, straight, and strong. That its bark is brown and furrowed also seemed to suit me well.

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But name changes are not always opportunistic or driven by fear. In India, a god can have several names that are interchangeable depending on the situation. Ganesh, the elephant headed god, is called by at least 108 names. My parents’ generation and community changed not only the last name upon marriage, but also gave the woman a new first name. And of course, there are nicknames and titles, to avoid using your real name.

Name changes are all over the Bible, too, sometimes changed by God. These changes indicated transformations, such as when Naomi (pleasant) returns to her homeland without her husband and sons, she tells those who greet her to call her Mara (bitter) in Ruth 1:20.

Emphasizing transformation in development, Maria Montessori’s quote sits on my curiosity shelf (yes, like the old Victorian explorers had):

“Development is a series of rebirths. There comes a time when one psychic personality ends, and another begins.”

Maybe we should change our names as we transition from one developmental phase to another to signal to the world our transformation. And of course, rebirths are big in Hinduism.

We transform as we grow, says Montessori. But there is a lot of resistance to that change, I have realized. People want to keep you in that static box. It’s easier for them that way.

As we go from a society where name changes were driven by fear of persecution to embracing and reflecting the diversity we have in this country, our daily responses to name changes are an important indicator of that transition.

Until such time when it becomes the norm to have a “different” name, a “difficult” name, a changed name, let me offer up an operational stop gap.  In keeping with the Millennial affinity for rubrics and templates, I propose a simple one here for introductions: Hi, my name is X. Hello X, nice to meet you.

And then move on to the real point of your interaction — such as noting the beautiful trees that tower above you while you plant, and all the commonalities that you share.

It’s very simple.

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Lirio Hittle worked as the State of Hawaii’s first climate change coordinator. She is now

based in Washington, D.C., and helps governments and community organizations respond to

climate change. She misses the beautiful ocean and mountains of Hawaii but loves the majestic

native forests and raptor life of the east coast.

Images:

Group of roses by Cathal Mac an Bheatha

Ragged rose by Felipe Correia

Rose bud by Timothy Dykes