Rose

I didn't even know how to spell my middle name until I was six.

My mom made up our names, so we were destined to be different. She didn't think about the possibility of us not being hired or ridiculed because of them, she was thinking about the uniqueness we would represent because we were HER children, and dared someone to think differently.

Going to school and having a substitute who was unfamiliar with my name was the funniest thing. I would smirk as they went down the alphabet, waiting for the moment when they would get to the "D" letters as the class would look at me. The teacher would struggle with it, squinting eyes as if the letters were smaller and possibly a different language. They tried to pronounce it for a few seconds, and looked around the classroom for a raised hand to either help or confirm. Other kids were in on the joke, knowing that my name was near impossible. I would smile and raise my hand, repeating my name several times until they said it was somewhat correctly, then they went on down the alphabet.

Having a different name from my peers was one of the most tiring, best things about me when I was younger in my opinion. Not only did I have to repeat my name and pronounce it phonetically, it made me stick out. I was memorable, if not for my name, then for my actions that portrayed that although it was "ghetto," I did not act it. I was in the top 20 honors percentile of my high school graduating class, I received an honors scholarship to one of the four colleges I was accepted into, and it made boys want to chase after me because my name seemed like an obstacle they wanted to climb to get to know me. I made sure to make a name for myself outside of my name because appearances and what came out of your mouth are what people remember the most. I was a fast-talking, "well-mannered" African America with an "African-ish" name. I refused to be looked over because my name wasn't normal.

It wasn't until I got to college that I realized that I was exhausted. All of the effort that I gave while in high school to go to a place two and a half hours away from home in a place that I had only heard of on the news had drained me. I lived in a private-private dorm with four other girls, and it was move-in day. My family and then-boyfriend helped and left. I was unpacking boxes and trying to hold the tears back thinking that I was really by myself at least for a whole month with strangers. I would have to start all over again with introducing myself and making new friends to people who had no idea who I was but had already made their minds up about me.

A few hours later, there was a knock on my door and one of my roommates introduced herself. When it was my turn, I said my name once, but she looked at me with a blank stare. "Is it okay if I call you __ instead? It'll take at least a couple days for me to get your name right." It was in that moment that I was given an out. A nickname besides the pet ones that close friends and family had for me. Finally, something that I could call my own while also reinventing myself.

The feelings I was feeling was relief.

From then on, for the next four and a half years, I introduced myself as "My name is this, but you can call me this if it's easier" and life was a little easier for me as far as my name went. I forgot about high school because college was a different ballgame. Most times people didn't even ask for my name because they could honestly care less, which was alright with me. It was tiring keeping up with two names, but not as tiring as having to repeat it over and over again to people I would never see. But once again, I was too exhausted to worry about it.

During the winter break of 2016, my older brother who also has a unique name, said that he didn't like when people called me by the college nickname. "Your name is so beautiful, and people should go the extra effort to try and learn it if they really want tot get to know you." I nodded in agreement, but it wasn't really hitting me until later that night when I thought about it. He was actually right. Taking the time to learn my name was important to me in high school because I agreed with him then, so why did I become lax now?

I didn't even find the answer to that until I started applying for employment for after graduation. When I applied, every single recruiter was impressed with my resume and the amount of work I had done, and at the end of every phone interview, they would say, "Your name is wonderful, I will definitely remember that when it's time for in-person interviews."

All of a sudden, I was back to knowing what it felt like to know how much weight my name held. If employers knew how important a name was without even meeting me or seeing me in person, why did I become so lazy? I was so worried that I wouldn't even be looked at the same because of my name, but now I realize that job offers are still coming in, regardless of how many letters it has. The only thing I had to worry about is if the announcer would pronounce my name correctly at graduation (hint: he did not).

I'll stick with the nickname because I actually do like it, but I won't hide behind it anymore because I find it not necessary. I have many friends with unique names and many friends with common names, but no one has MY name.

Thank you, mom.