By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mom of 3
In Dale Carnegie’s famous book, “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” he wrote that you should use a person’s name when you’re talking to them because “…a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.”
I’m not here to argue with Dale Carnegie because the five million books he sold can’t be wrong. But I do wonder if the sound of your own name is always as appealing as he claimed it is.
The other day, I stood across from a clerk who was running my credit card at a retail counter. She glanced at the name on the card and said, “Oh, that’s a nice name. I like it. It’s not a name you hear often.”
I thanked her for the compliment. But what she doesn’t know is that a name like Gwen rhymes with way too many common words used in conversation – words like “when” and “then” and “in” and “pen.” It’s a long list. There’ve been so many times when I’ve spun around to answer someone who wasn’t even talking to me but happened to be within earshot. For example:
Stranger 1: “Hey, did I tell you I’m going to Hawaii?”
Stranger 2: “Oh my gosh! WHEN?”
Me (turning around to face them): “Yes?”
Strangers 1 and 2 (confused about why I’m talking): “What?”
Me (Realizing I’ve fallen victim to another name rhyme): “Oh, I thought you said my name.”
Stranger 2: “Um, no.”
So I say “Sorry” and then act like I’m in a big hurry to get somewhere important, which is true, since I’m desperate to be anywhere but there, dealing with another episode of mistaken-name shame.
Now that I’m past 50, my new policy is to ignore it when I think I hear my name because there’s a good chance I’m wrong. And if the person really is calling my name, he or she will probably repeat it a few times because they’ll think my hearing is starting to fade. Or they’ll just give up and send me a text, which is the more practical way to go anyway.
My mother once told me she’d planned to name me “Gwendolyn Jane,” but my dad didn’t like the name, so she shortened it to “Gwen Ann.” My maiden name, Rule, was also short, so the whole thing together was only three stupid syllables. Drove me nuts.
I wanted a sophisticated, multi-syllable name like Elizabeth, Jennifer, Kimberly, or Christina – the kinds of names you could always find on key chains at the Six Flags gift shop. (I never once found a key chain with the name Gwen on it, but my best friend Jennifer had key chains out the wazoo. Not that I’m bitter.)
Names are also often used as inspiration for teasing kids long before they’re ready to handle it. One day in second grade, this jerk-faced kid came up to me and called out, “Gwen, Gwen, the big fat hen!” which was ironic because I was so awkwardly skinny at the time that you could count my ribs when I took a deep breath. And even though it’s ancient history, I can still sometimes hear that sing-song chant in my head. (I wonder if all the fancy Jessicas or Jonathans of the world ever have these issues. I doubt it.)
But the good news is that the years have taught me to appreciate my short, not-too-common but rhymes-with-everything name. It’s simple and unassuming, so it suits me.
And as fate would have it, 27 years ago, I married a man who has a last name with eight whole letters and two syllables that rhyme with almost nothing. When it comes to the name game, that feels like quite the catch.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.
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