At his blog, Francis Berger makes an amusing but serious point about the importance of our names. Excerpt:
In Hungary, my father’s name was Berger Ferenc (Hungarians always place the surname first) pronounced something like Bairgair Fairains in Hungary, but in America he became Frank Berger, and I became the junior variety of that name. He chose Frank over Francis because he thought it sounded more manly. It took him a while to learn that when most Americans heard his new, Anglicized name, all they could think of were barbeque meats.
Think about it. Frank. Berger...
I bloodied many noses and had my nose bloodied many times defending my name when I was growing up because whenever kids heard my name, the hamburger jokes were quick to follow...
Yeah, I pretty much heard them all. Naturally, the taunting diminished as I grew older, but even as an adult, I could tell my name still inspired mild amusement among fellow adults. No matter where I went, I was confronted with thinly veiled expressions of bemusement and lightning flash grins whenever I introduced myself...
Read the whole thing...
1 comment:
Thank you for sharing this on your blog. I had a lot of fun writing this post, but I am a little uneasy about how my dad will feel about it!
(Actually, he will take it well. We occasionally discussed and laughed about our rather awkward name.)
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