Last week, I read of a gentleman of similar social standing as myself (college-aged, caucasian male) discovering, through a simple Google search, that he was suspected of murder. Zachary Garcia, from the University of Florida, was simply trolling the internet in his own personal quest for vanity when he found his driver's license picture and name attached to an article connecting him to a robbery which resulted in a homicide, but it proved to be a case of mistaken identity as the true suspect's name was spelled with an "e" (Zachery Garcia). Even though he was able to talk his way out of it, I felt I might as well throw my name into that field and find out what shot back at me. Let me just say that the results were pleasing in more ways than one.
First, I was able to draw some instant relief from not having to clear my name from any crime reports. That's not something I was worried about, but it was still reassuring. I hope that, if such an issue does arrive, Google won't be the reason it comes to my knowledge.
What brought me even more joy was finding out how many of the top results were directly relevant to me. When I plugged my name into that Google search bar, results 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 15 immediately popped out as being either about or because of me. Even though it may seem meaningless, I was bordering on ecstatic.
I'm not going to toss my real name into this post, but it turns out my parents choice of spelling on a name that may not, all things considered, prove that unique, carved me a quite proprietary identity. They chose to change a single letter, changing an "a" to an "e", to keep the French and English pronunciations as similar as possible while attaching me to the history of a saint they held in high regard. My parents were so adamant in this decision, and I think it's due to their merging cultural identities, a minor phenomenon they saw materializing in their children. My mother is American, my father is French, and I am both. So, why not allow my name that duality? I probably would never have cared about the first reason, pronunciation, if we had remained in an English-speaking community, but the minute I set foot in a French-speaking school, I was grateful. The latter part, about the saint, is still somewhat special to me, even if I seem to ignore it far too often. I still think back on his charity and attempt to draw some guidance from it, trying to allow it to shape my actions. Combined, the two reasons behind the choice of my name are a reminder of my parents, their one-off of a decision instilling me with a sense of both their individuality and that which they wish me to have.
Even though I have to make a mention of the spelling at almost every occasion I must divulge my name, I have always enjoyed that slight anomaly. I enjoy it as a small reminder that I am unique, my own person, not just a replica. I don't share a mold with anyone; I got my own. That's true for everyone though. Nobody should have to accept someone else's identity. Everyone should both accept their uniqueness and act in a manner that helps them carve that path. We each get to carve our own custom route, and we should embrace it. Sometimes, we get a little window, an opening, to start on that venture, a little reminder. My name just happens to be my reminder of my variance from an accepted standard. It gives me an opportunity to share my cultural background. Some may think of it as burdensome to have to explain, but I cherish it as its a chance to share a little of yourself with someone who cares enough to ask. If they choose to ask, they are just trying to get a little insight into your world. Who knows what fantastic ways sharing such a small fact might take that conversation. In the end, though I sometimes choose a different label or a nickname, I love my name, and I appreciate it as one of the benefits of unique parenting.
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