What’s in a name?
Often when walking across campus, I will see a student I had years ago. I remember where he sat in the classroom, what time the class was, things he said in class discussions, and the exact topic of his major paper. But I won’t remember his name.
This lone omission will be hurtful, even if it’s literally the only thing I can’t remember about this person is whether he’s called Tommy or Derrick or whatever.
I’ve gone past trying to figure out why it’s so hard to remember names to wondering why anyone cares. For myself, I only feel resentment at having been given such a common name as Dan. Dan, barely even a name, more like the start of a sneer. “Dan.”
Half the women in my wife’s friend group in college married Dans, in fact we were all given identifying nicknames behind our backs: There was BusinessDan, actorDan, handsomeDan and annoyingDan. I’ll let you guess which one I was.
Really, the name is absolutely the least interesting thing about a person, a bunch of sounds your parents liked before they even knew you, reflecting only some vague idea they had about the world as it existed before you were born. Had I been named more accurately I would have been called “He who wants constant praise,” or “Lil’ Jealous” or “Grudgy.”
Remembering names is a parlor trick performed by charlatans and con artists. If someone uses your name in conversation, chances are they’re trying to flatter you or bilk you out of something.
There are more important things we can know people by, like their income bracket or who they voted for.
I’m Grudgy Libman, and that’s my perspective.
