WHAT'S IN YOUR NAME?

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?