My name, Luciette Daignault, is definitely not the most common name to ever exist. I’m fully aware of this and have been fully aware of this ever since I started attending an American school.
When I was younger, in kindergarten and first grade, I attended a French international school. Here, I never had a problem with people making fun of me or worrying about substitute teachers stuttering over my name when seeing it on the attendance sheet. But when I transferred to the American system, things changed. I became accustomed to teachers appearing confused when reading the second or third name on the attendance sheet, and I just raised my hand with a simple “here,” knowing that the name they were stuck on was mine.
I adapted to the name Lucy (which I eventually changed to Lucie in high school) because, to me, it felt less complicated. And, after putting up with correcting people for so long, Lucy was just so much easier.
As I’ve gotten older and learned how much names are connected to identity, I have realized that I feel incredibly disconnected from my birth name. There are times where it doesn’t even feel like mine anymore just because I’ve spent the last 14 years or so distancing myself from it. As a result, I’ve become more anxious to correct professors, superiors, or strangers on how to properly pronounce my name because it is giving me the chance to reclaim something that was once mine.
What’s even more painful is that I often don’t have the heart to correct people, unless their pronunciation is incredibly wrong. I usually let small Americanization of my name slide, and I’ve come to realize that sometimes I’m not even sure what’s wrong and what isn’t. I know that, to some people, the change in the flow of the name doesn’t seem like that much of a difference, but to me, it’s the world of a difference. It completely changes how I hear my name and the name I identify with, and therefore, the pronunciation matters.
I fully accept that there is going to be variation in who will use which name when addressing me, whether it’s Lucie or Luciette, and that’s perfectly fine. Over time, I’ve decided that I really have no preference with which name I am addressed by, as long as people are willing to put in the time and the effort to say my name properly. It is who I am and my identity, and therefore, it deserves the same level of respect as any other name. I really don’t mind teaching you how to properly pronounce my name if you ask me. There’s no excuse to say my name incorrectly and then not bother to learn how to correct yourself. It’s disrespectful and hurtful, and it indicates to me that you don’t care enough about me as a person to even learn how to say my name correctly.
Just ask. It’s that simple.
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