When Someone Speaks Our Name
On Tuesday morning, Ray had his fourth eye surgery since October. The first two were to give his cornea a little polish. These last two have been for cataracts. If all goes well, his surgeries are all done. He now sees 20/20 in his right eye. He is excited to see better than he has since third grade, the year he got his first pair of glasses. If the outcome of this surgery for his left eye is even close to that, he will be very happy. We should know that in about a week and a half.
Tuesday was our fourth visit to the eye center, so for the fourth time I followed their prescribed procedures for the patient’s designated driver. I went in and signed that I was going to be his driver and then waited in the car for them to call me. This time when the lady behind the desk asked my name, she responded with, “I have a aunt named Charlene. My grandmother gave odd names to her children. I have an uncle named Corky.” I wasn’t upset with her but felt a little sad that she thought Charlene was odd. She went on to say, “I think she lives in Murfreesboro, but I’m not sure.” I was sadder about that. Poor Aunt Charlene. I can’t imagine not knowing where my aunts are. I only have three aunts still living and am thankful for each of them.
After each of Ray’s eye surgeries, the first order of business was finding something for his breakfast, since he hadn’t been allowed to eat since midnight. I went into a coffee shop while my drowsy husband waited in the car. After I placed our order, the lady behind the counter asked my name. “I like that name,” she said. Naturally I told her about the other lady who thought it was odd.
I love my name. Back in 2015, I wrote about the story behind it. I’d like to share it again. When I wrote about my name back then, I had recently been asked the question I have been asked many times: “Is your name Charlene (pronounced with a soft ch, as in shade) or Charlene (with a hard ch, as in charcoal)?” Well, there’s a story about that. It goes back to when I was born.
My then-18- year-old Aunt Dot had a suggestion for a name for the first grandchild in the family. “Why don’t you name her Eva Charlene–Eva after Evelyn (my mother) and Charlene after Charles (her brother and my daddy)?”
Though Eva is spelled E-v-a, it is pronounced Evie. I had always heard it pronounced Evie and didn’t know it was spelled E-v-a myself until I was in school. No one called me Evie (or Eva) except the first time a teacher called the roll at the beginning of a semester when I was in college.
I was always called Charlene with a hard ch sound, except by the few people who shortened it to Chene when I was a little bitty girl and my high school friends who called me Charle (pronounced Charlie). Are you confused yet?
My problem began when I was in elementary school and my Uncle Joel began dating a girl named Charlene (pronounced with the soft sh sound). To me Charlene (who later became my Aunt Charlene) was super-cool. I mean, after all, she taught me how to dance the Mashed Potato in Granny and Granddaddy’s living room—how cool is that? One day she told me that she was not Charlene (pronounced with the hard ch) but Charlene (pronounced with a soft sh). Well, I decided right then and there that the soft sh pronunciation of Charlene must be the cool way to say it.
When I went to college at age 17, I had my chance to become cool. When people asked my name, I pronounced it the cool way with a soft sh. In my senior year, I met Ray. Ten months later he married Charlene (with a soft sh), and we began our life together.
While we lived in Kentucky, Mississippi, Illinois, and Cookeville, Tennessee, I was Charlene (with a soft sh)–except, of course, to my family and the people from my hometown who continued to use the hard ch–and to the people who got mixed up and called me Charlotte.
When we started Notgrass Company in 1999 and began to travel to homeschool conventions, I continued to introduce myself as Charlene (with the soft sh).
Then just before Christmas in 2003, my daddy died suddenly and unexpectedly. I missed him so much—I still do. As I worked through my grief, I began longing to be Charlene (with the hard ch) again. I had never tried to get anyone who knew me before college to change to the cool way of saying Charlene and I had never thought of the soft sh as being dishonoring to Daddy (I certainly hope he never felt that way), but the hard ch felt better somehow. I wanted it back.
Ray and I had been married 29 years at that point and I asked him to change the way he pronounced my name. He changed immediately, and I still love to hear Ray say my name. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise. He just gave me what I requested. It helped that we moved to Gainesboro about a month after Daddy passed away, so I could be Charlene with a hard ch again in our new hometown.
With a name like mine, I get to spell it a lot. When I come to Notgrass, I often say, “It’s like not flowers, not trees—not grass.” People often smile when I say that, but it keeps me from having to say “n as in nancy, o as in octopus, t as in Tom . . .”
Our names are important to us. Hearing our names spoken lovingly is comfort to our hearts. Hearing them spoken harshly makes pain in that same place.
When I thought about telling you this story back in 2015, I was embarrassed to admit that I let a little comment from a teenager have such a lasting effect on my life. I wondered if I really wanted to let my readers know how insecure I was back then. I hope it serves to remind you how insecure your own children may be. This knowing who we are and being okay with it and letting others know who we really are is important stuff for young folks. I’m glad your kids have you to lean on while they find out.
He who overcomes will thus be clothed in white garments;
And I will not erase his name from the book of life,
And I will confess his name before My Father and His angels.
Revelation 3:5
Please see a link to the next video in our Laura Ingalls Wilder video series, below today’s Instagram meme.
If you would like to watch the next video in our series about Laura Ingalls Wilder, Playing Beside Plum Creek, click here:
