Names We Remember

We get use to names. As Shakespeare says: ... a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Of course it would. Our collective mind would simply have gotten used to that other name, and whether it be skunk or carrot, it would nevertheless bring a sweet-smelling flower to mind.

We accept the names given to things and people, and go about our lives without giving them much thought. But, whether we are conscious of it or not, the names of people we have known bring to mind a flood of experiences and memories. If, when we were growing up, the class bully was named George, we may react negatively any time we meet a person by that name. If, on the other hand, George was the name of a dear childhood friend, we may immediately take kindly to people with that name, whatever their background or intentions. It has nothing to do with the name, but rather with the memories it evokes.

            A case in point. Someone came up to me at a recent social function and shook my hand. You don’t recognize me, do you? he asked. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment. He was a man about my age, with bright eyes and an infectious smile. A grey cell long buried in a far crevice of my mind told me it was someone from the distant past. We went to school together, he said, adding that his name was Joe. I sat behind you. Don’t you remember? The grey cell kicked into action and remember I did as the horror of THE day when I was in the sixth grade came into focus: during class Joe had slowly and quietly cut off some of my long braids. My mind quickly replaced the pleasant face in front of me with that of a brat of a boy who delighted in tormenting girls.

            Now as adults, we exchanged a few pleasantries, neither of us mentioning the incident of long ago (he probably didn’t remember). But I knew I still could not forgive him, and saw no reason to renew the acquaintance at this stage in our lives. I quickly found a reason to move on.

            A couple of weeks ago when a sudden leak appeared under my kitchen sink, I was unable to reach the man who takes care of my building, so a neighbor offered to call a plumber. The man came and introduced himself. Call me Joe, he offered amiably. He went to work, but I couldn’t wait for him finish and leave. After all, his name was Joe, in my mind’s eye a name not to be trusted. He must have sensed something because he kept reassuring me he was almost through.

            After he had gone, I went to check the back of my head in the mirror. Just to make sure!