My 354 students and I have been enjoying writing creatively with guidance from Linda Christensen's text,
Christensen,
Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and
rising up: Teaching about the power of the written word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.
I have my own autographed copy, thank you very much! She is a hero of mine, with her focus on empowerment, social justice, and just plain loving her students. A couple days ago we were looking at the section beginning on p. 10, "To Say the Name..." I first read to them an excerpt from Any Small Goodness by Tony Johnston (where Arturo and his friends take back their names after their teacher assigns them generic, American names), and then we discussed how Christensen encouraged her students to share the history of their own names. It was a lovely afternoon, taking time to write, enjoy one another's writing, and get to know one another just a little bit better! Here's mine:
Patricia Lynne
As the story goes, by the time I was born my mother was so
angry with my father that she wouldn’t even let him hold me! They were divorced
before I was out of diapers—I don’t know that I ever lived with him. What does
this have to do with my name? He, that missing link of my life, named me
Patricia Lynne (with an e). I met him when I was 15, and had a relationship
with him until he died four years ago. I asked him once why he’d named me
Patricia. He had no particular reason, just liked the name. Same for the middle
name. I still don’t know why it has an e
on the end…
There is a Patricia way, way back in my family tree, but no
Lynnes. When I was little I toyed with Pat, but never Patti with an I or
Patsy—NEVER call me Patsy! Being
nicknamed Patty probably did me more harm than good when I was growing up—we
all know what it rhymes with, and I was the first child in my class to reach
five feet in height, not to mention being the first to weigh one hundred
pounds.
I was usually Patricia only when new, or sick, or in
trouble; Patricia Lynne when I was in trouble with Mom; Patty Lynne when it was
an affectionate chiding. More often than
not with Mom, I was Polly or Pa-olly or Po-atty. My big sister’s name is Polly,
but both parents say that had nothing to do with my chosen name.
Now in the prime of my life, I have several beloved
variations of my name. My sweet Joe calls me Missum Patty or Miss Patty; the
latter of which caught on like gangbusters when I taught at NIU—there are
hundreds of NIU grads, now teaching, who know me as Miss Patty! Dr. Patty is another favorite. To me, the
respect for my degree and experience is there, as is the acknowledgement that I
am a human being with a personality. My grandchildren call me Grampat. Being
the step-grandma, I wanted a name that didn’t confuse them (they have SO many
grandmas!!) and that did not take away from the value of the rightfully- earned
title of Grandma that my step-children’s mother and their mothers-in-law
possess.
What will my name evolve to next, I wonder? When I am old
and wearing purple and red with gaudy black and green striped stockings that
don’t stay up, how will people address me? Who will name me next?
