When I was in college, I took several courses from a relatively young professor about whom every student had an opinion. Either you loved this guy or he drove you nuts. I belonged to the former group.
This professor was tall and lanky with about 17 different blond cowlicks that never seemed to want to stay in place, despite his best efforts. He loved classical music, college football and—unabashedly—his wife and kids. He had a booming voice that would work its way into a fever pitch if he ever got especially excited about one of his lectures. He was absent-minded and energetic and about half nerdy. And I loved it.
However, the guy could never get my name right. I mean, never, not once. I took five or six classes from this guy, spent quite a bit of time one-on-one going over papers, and went on a couple of long-distance field trips he led with very small groups of students. He addressed me by name several hundred times, and I’m fairly certain that he never once got it right. It was always “Tuh-rell,” never “Tie-rell,” as it is meant to be. Not even hearing my classmates pronounce it correctly over and over seemed to help. (And to clear up any misconceptions, my last name is pronounced “Mär-chənt,” not the Frenchified “Mar-shaun.”)
I got over it and learned to let it slide because being annoyed about it simply wasn’t worth it. But even looking back, it still rankles a little. I mean, few things are as fundamental to a person’s identity as a name. It’s the first thing you learn about a new acquaintance. Whatever attributes, emotions or memories people associate with you, they are first associated with your name. A name is a big deal.
It is here that I need to take a moment to formally apologize for my own name-related transgression. In the July issue of Potato Grower, I wrote an article on Potato Services of Idaho in which I mentioned operations manager Shane Larsen. Now, I’m sure there is a Shane Larsen out there somewhere, and I’m sure he’s a wonderful person. He is not, however, the operations manager at PSI. That would be Shane French. I am not sure how “French” was misconstrued to “Larsen,” but the good people at PSI have been very gracious about the mistake, telling me they all got a good laugh out of it.
Still, a name is not something to be taken lightly. Expectant parents spend countless hours poring over baby name books. You sign your name on the dotted line. You find a phone number by searching for a name. A tombstone shows only a couple dates and a name, trusting that the person it honors did enough to make that name mean something. It’s much more than a simple label.
As I worked on this month’s cover feature on Senninger Irrigation, I was struck by a couple things. First was the way Senninger owner Mark Healy is on a first-name basis with each of his 200-plus employees. Healy truly understands how important people’s names are to them, and that makes the names important to him. Secondly, I noticed how proud the folks at Senninger are of the Senninger name and how, to many, that name carries deep-seated meaning.
Whoever you are, whatever you’re doing, wherever life has taken you, your name has always been with there with you. Perhaps you’re trying to uphold the family name and its generations of good standing. Maybe you’re making an attempt at restoring your good name. Whatever the case may be, your name is a precious thing—something to be proud of.