Names

Mine means famous. It has never quite fit with my personality. Admired or appreciated I could have lived up to, but I have always belonged in small crowds of close-knit journeys. Mine is also the legacy of my father, and it is a name I am proud to share.

In Spain names have been a strange experience. I ask people their name two or three times when they introduce themself. First I try to hear a name I know as existing and then I try to repeat most of the subtleties of their pronunciation. Some names signal enmity between my ancestors and the ancestors of the person I am meeting.  I tell myself, nearly audibly, "This is not your enemy. Be friendly."

In Spain I struggle much more with names.  I believe part of it is the double memory associated with my name learning here. In Pennsylvania I only remember which pre-made box someone's name belongs in "John, Michael, Deeana. In Spain the boxes are still unformed and names like "JuanJo" that I learn at work begin an enitirely new mental name box.

This year I am putting massive amounts of memory energy into knowing the names of people in my school and in my town. This effort brings the last reflection I want to share. When I remember a student's name for the first time, there is a magical moment. The student feels appreciated and cared for and I feel like I see them as an individual. It is frequently marked by the student exclaiming "you remembered my name" or expressing a satisfied surprise in being known. Every challenge in life is punctuated by moments of happiness and this amazing type of moment is only formed in the respectful meeting of two vastly different cultures.