What is the story of your name – first, middle or last? Were you named after someone? Was your family name changed? Are you called different names or nick names, depending on the context?
These are some of the prompts I gave to a group of teens recently. It evoked a lively response, as everyone had a story to tell about their names. Some explored connections to their family histories, some explained how they had chosen new names for themselves, while others discussed how it felt when people mispronounced their names.
If you are leading a workshop and need a good ice breaker, if you supervise a group at work and want to do some team building, if you are bringing together a new group at a summer program, or even to learn more about your long time friends, try sharing your name stories.
Whether a group is meeting for the first time or have known each other a while, taking the time to share name stories provides a chance to genuinely connect. Name stories can open up discussions of cultural differences, so it is important to establish a respectful setting. I suggest offering prompts and giving everyone in a group a designated time to tell and be heard in pairs or small groups.
I find that telling a story as an example is a helpful way to model what is being asked of the group. I introduce myself by telling them one of my name stories and then pair up participants to share theirs. To give you an idea of what I mean, here is one of my name stories.
“Here, look at this,” my aunt says, holding out a small piece of paper.
I am visiting my aunt and she is sorting through a box of papers from my long gone grandfather. She hands me the yellowing paper and I hold it tenderly – Grandpa wrote this! I can see that he listed the names of his six grandchildren. Next to each of our names are Hebrew words.“It looks like he wrote your names in English and in Hebrew,” my aunt points out.
“What does mine say?” I ask.
She can’t read his script, and I can’t make any sense of it either. Growing up I had very little formal Jewish education, and had not learned Hebrew. My parents were cultural Jews but had not carried on the religious observances of my immigrant grandparents. I had been unaware I had a Hebrew name. But uncovering my grandfather’s handwritten record gets me curious. Back home, I find someone to translate it for me.
“Rivka,” my friend tells me. “Your name is Rivka.”
A little thrill goes through me when I realize my grandfather had lovingly named me after his favorite sister, giving me a link to an ancestor, and to the biblical foremother Rebecca. And that’s when I decide to use Rivka as my middle name – to affirm this part of my identity.
After hearing this story about my name, I imagine that you have more of a sense of my family history and cultural background, even if it is only a bit of the puzzle of who I am. I hope it inspires you to exchange name stories with others. Everyone has one.
copyright 2016 Cindy Marshall