The Name Game
Below is my newest blog on The Holmes County Bargain Hunter website. My blog gets personal at times, but it's where truth comes out. Sometimes we need to hear the truth.
Am I Otis Mary’s Clyde’s Missy or
Henry Mabel’s Mary’s Missy?
Labels. Reputation.
Names.
We live in a world of all of the above. It all starts with our family name and
spreads from there. Oh yes, you’re
Clyde’s daughter. Oh you’re Mary’s
daughter. Yes, you’re Shelly’s sister,
or Selena’s mom. We’re identified by our
family and where we live. Our community
is close knit and if you come from the Amish then you just might be Jacob
Esther’s sister. It’s our way of
tracking down just where and when we came into this world and where we
belong. In a way, it gives us our sense
of just where we fit in.
I can’t remember how many times we may have talked about
someone new, or told an older person about them. They will literally spend hours trying to
figure out where they come from, who are their parents, who are their
grandparents and what side of the family tree they might hail from. It’s a rhythm as old as the hills, and one
that won’t die unless we stop being curious as to who people are.
I doubt this will ever happen because we’re too darn
inquisitive.
When I married George I married out of the circle. He always tells our kids not to worry, that
his blood will overpower anybody that may be remotely related to us. Meaning not to worry if you fall in love with
a 3rd cousin once removed. We
chuckle over this, but it is true. Our
community needs a fresh infusion of new blood once in a while.
What happens to this train of belonging when you throw an
event into the mix? Say you’re sister
did something that caused a ruckus in school, or your brother went to
jail. Are we forever labeled, along with
our names, to this event? Imagine a
scenario like this, “You want to go out with who? Don’t you know that their brother did that
terrible thing? You’re not allowed they
are probably just like them.”
This is where labeling comes in. This child won’t do well in school because
the teachers hated the older sister, or he just can’t live up to the fantastic
grades the other sister gets. In our
minds, we are silently labeling people according to someone else’s
mistakes. And that’s what they are –
mistakes. This is wrong and also
hypocritical. Are you trying to hide
something your great uncle did back in the day?
Should you be labeled because of it?
Unfortunately, this is an all too true experience. Our children, who we have made very proud of
their mixed heritage, have fought a fight that can be sometimes
overwhelming. They’ve been made in the
image of their father and mother – a beautiful mix that has given them caramel
skin and lovely dark hair. Because of
this, they’ve been told to hop back across the border where they came from. This is where labeling unravels, because you
can’t change who you are. Sometimes they
stare back at them and tell them, I was born in Millersburg, how about
you? Even if they had been born across
that border, which their father was, what of it? What stereotype have they learned to group
all brown-skinned children in the same group?
Or to have the nerve to tell them, because of their skin, that they need
to leave? How is this the first thing
that comes out of their mouth? Maybe the
question we should be asking is where do they learn it.
My daughter, who now goes to school in the
Caribbean-influenced West Palm Beach, is accused of not being Hispanic
enough. The ethnicity of that area is
mainly Cuban, so having roots in Mexico is looked down upon at times. It’s a tough road – and one she is passionate
to change with her political science major.
Still, my children hail from Holmes County, OH. They’ve been raised here just like every
other Eli Martha’s Joseph. Their blood
may be beautifully blended with another culture, but they still are Henry
Mabel’s Mary’s Missy’s George’s Esabelle Selena and Hunter. As well as Maximo Evangelina’s Antonio’s
Missy’s Esabelle Selena and Hunter - label, stereo-type, reputation or
not.
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