What’s in a [weird] name? A lot!

My eldest son is one of those kids with a “weird” name. We had the best of intentions when choosing it, but he’s still young and doesn’t care we named him with his Algerian heritage in mind. He wants to fit in, not to explain his name every time he introduces himself.

My husband is Arab, and though we know the stigma around all things Middle Eastern, we wanted an Arabic name. Before our son was born, I spent considerable time poring over the Arabic names book for contenders. Whatever we chose would have to be easily pronounceable and without negative associations. We therefore made a long list, progressively whittled it down, eventually selected “Yassin.” I liked it, but also didn’t think it could be mangled too badly; after all, it almost rhymes with “machine.” But you wouldn’t know that unless someone said it for you first, which is where the problem lies.

The other day, for example, I went to school registration to fill out forms. At the table they’d set up near the office, a friendly blonde asked me for my last name to locate the boys’ registration forms. She rifled through the stack of files to get ours, found Yassin’s first. “Yah-sun?” she pronounced awkwardly. I just smiled and gave a little nod of acknowledgement, didn’t bother to correct her. It wasn’t her fault; I’m sure there had not yet been another Yassin-Machine at registration this year.

Why should I expect she know how to say his name? It’s not common here: it is weird. Tell it to the average stranger, and they give you quizzical looks and hope they misheard you saying “Jackson.” I just sighed inwardly and thought about how it cool it had been when we were on vacation in Algeria and you’d hear that name all the time. Someone saying “Yassin!” as he called to his friend in the car, a person calling it out to get the attention of a guy on the other side of the street, a kid yelling it as he passed the soccer ball to his buddy.

More than once my Yassin turned around thinking someone was calling his name and was surprised when there turned out to be Yassins everywhere. We’d hear the name, I’d cast him a quick glance, and we’d share a little smile knowing that there, halfway around the world, he wasn’t the only guy with the odd Arab name. Yassin was as commonplace as Charlie or Sam. Nothing odd, just a name. Nothing that required explanation or assistance.

Our vacation is over, but I hope that now he’s back here in Denver, some awareness of that ordinariness elsewhere will remain. I hope he’ll stop disliking the name no one can pronounce, stop feeling like an American kid with too-heavy Arab baggage. If he doesn’t feel it now, I hope someday he’ll know he’s a kid whose name isn’t actually so weird and that instead, it’s proof that he fits in a few different places in this enormous world.

Guest blogger Elizabeth Senouci is a software localization engineer, translator, occasional writer, and mom of two boys. She enjoys traveling, running, and sitting on the couch.

Author: Mile High Mamas