I took the photo above on our family trip to Mexico City last spring. I cannot recommend Mexico City highly enough as a destination. Maybe I'll write a separate post about all the fun things to do there even if you're too scared to try to elusive street taco.
The image captures a Rodin Gates of Hell sculpture we saw at the Museo Soumaya. I usually size photographs smaller on my blog, but since this statue is actually close to twenty feet tall, even as small as what you see above doesn't do it justice. That said, the connection between the image and my post is tangential at best. More like grasping by a nearly broken straw. Here's the thought: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
And I was thinking about intentions. I know, weak. Sue me. (No, don't really. Being sued sounds like a pain.)
When I started the dean job with the Class of 2025, my intention was to get to know everyone in the grade really well, making sure to learn as much as I could about each student long before anything went sideways for the kids in the grade, so when the wheels came off, I had a well of positivity from which to draw. Honestly, it didn't work out that way. The train derailed long before I had a chance to form relationships with every student. I ended up getting to know several of them through the disciplinary process. It wasn't ideal.
Here I am, three years later, starting with a new group of kiddos and the same aspiration; I hope to get to know them all well and that we don't have a major class catastrophe early or, well, ever. With this class, I'm making the same Herculean effort to get acquainted with them, but I'm also crossing my fingers and toes that nothing goes sideways as fundamentally as it did three years ago.
That said, by the end of their time at my school, the Class of 2025 was in a pretty great place. They were a group of kids who came from all over the world after experiencing middle school during one of the worst times in human history. I don't think the consequences of that fundamental difference from most students' middle-grade years can be overemphasized. Fortunately, during their time here, they grew up.
By the time the 2025s graduated last spring, I was honored to get to read their names as I presented them to receive their diplomas from the Head of School. And part of showing them my respect was learning to say each of their legal names correctly. Calling people what they want to be called is such a fundamental kindness that it is basically the basement-floor level of showing someone that they matter. Even though some of the names were hard for me, I recorded them. I practiced. I took the whole year to learn.
To let you know the history of graduations at Hotchkiss, it wasn't always the class dean who said the students' names at the final ceremony. It used to be the dean of students. Unfortunately, after the retirement of a long-tenured dean of students who took the time to know the kids, we had a few people in that position who didn't. Rather than learning their names, one such dean just made her best guesses. It was an upsetting day for those kids who felt invisible at their own graduations and for their families who thought they were sending their children to a school with caring adults. Needless to say, the transition to having class deans read names has been positive.
All of last year, I tried to wrap my tongue around a few names at every class meeting starting in the fall. I made sure the 2025s knew that my goal was to master every student's correct pronunciation by May 30 at 11:00 am. Sure, I had to reveal a weakness by saying that some names were hard for me, but I made it clear that I was still going to make the necessary effort. In this small way, I was demonstrating that I care about them.
When people give public addresses and pronounce others' names wrong, I cringe at the arrogance and lack of forethought. I cry inside at what it says when people don't care enough to ask for help, to try to learn, to practice. I believe it's so important to make every effort to learn people's names. No excuses.
What do you think? Am I overstating the case? Please share your responses in the comments.
I love this!!! As someone who has a first name that is sometimes (often) pronounced incorrectly, I can’t agree more.
“Calling people what they want to be called is such a fundamental kindness that it is basically the basement-floor level of showing someone that they matter.”
YES!!! For many years (almost my entire life), I let people pronounce my name any way they like unless it was someone I knew I needed to interact with on a regular basis. I lived in Chile for a year and my friends there just decided to call me “Pilar” because my real name was too challenging. That was ok. But now that I am well past being polite, I generally try to gently or perhaps not gently correct people when they pronounce my first name incorrectly. It matters.
Lucky 2027s to have you as their guide!!
I too have often let people call me variations on the theme — Carlita, Clarita, Corita, etc — and usually regret not making the point the first time I hear it. I don’t always get names right, but I never assume I know what I’m doing and always try to learn when I mess up. Thanks!
As someone with a slightly uncommon name, I appreciate the care you’ve intentionally given to pronunciation for your students. I’m often resigned to expecting the wrong way when I meet new people.
“Calling people what they want to be called is such a fundamental kindness that it is basically the basement-floor level of showing someone that they matter.”
This segment stood out to me in particular because it actually made me think beyond pronunciation to conversations about people’s chosen names as well. The wording you use — fundamental kindness — is the feeling I have about ensuring I use the proper names and pronouns for the people I love, especially if they aren’t what people might assume they would be.
Great post!
Thanks, Cady. Yes, pronouns definitely go into this category of showing fundamental respect for who people are and how they want to be known.