What's in a Name?

I’m still on euphoric cloud nine after November 4th. I was one of the “red-state” constituents that supported the President-Elect ever since the 04’ convention. I also live in Illinois, so it was pretty much a no-brainer for me anyway.

But even with this landmark election victory, there are still many people that didn’t see this coming. The kicker: some of these people are my friends… who hate the current administration… who are Democrats… and live in Chicago!

One of my friends, a college-educated RN, actually could not understand why Black people were crying when the victory was announced.

“Who did you vote for?” I asked.

“McCain.”

“There you go. That’s why they were crying.”

See, I had to explain to my friend that even though she was a Chicago resident and hated G.W., she still decided to vote for his twin Skippy anyway. I explained that she and her husband are living proof of Obama’s improbable win. Many minorities rightfully felt that if there was a strong contingent that opposed supporting him in his own city, what chance would he stand against the likes of Iowa, Indiana, Michigan, Florida, Ohio and Pennsylvania?

Another example came from my wife’s aunt, who recently visited our home. She was also in disbelief of this victory and began telling stories about how my wife’s deceased grandfather would never have accepted such a fate in American politics (never mind the fact that when he was still alive, his granddaughter married a Puerto Rican and was nothing but kind, welcoming, inclusive and sincere). I had to explain that Grandpa had evolved before he passed, and that I was living proof of that evolution.

It was then my wife finally realized why I was so insistent on not passing my name onto my son. Like many Obama supporters, I always felt that if my own friends and family felt this way about cultural change, there was absolutely no way I could give my boy a Spanish name. My job is to protect him and giving him my wife’s last name partially ensures that opportunity will favor him slightly more.

And many will argue that my decision was premature, since we just elected a man with the most ethnic name imaginable. My good friends would probably point out that maybe I failed because of my inability to believe in the good judgment of human nature. Maybe I failed because it was never the responsibility of others to look past a person’s name. Maybe it was my responsibility to become everything I could possibly be so others wouldn’t be forced to make that choice to begin with.

Either way, my initial reaction to his victory was more of shock than of elation. The euphoria didn’t sink in until after the adrenaline of relief wore off. At that point, it became an emotional celebration of pride, accomplishment and history.

Will I ever regret not naming my boy after me? No, because regardless of the recent demographic shift in politics, I am confident that my son will be an intelligent, empathetic and affable human being because I will teach him how to rise ABOVE a name. He will grow to understand that his name is what people will merely call him, but his heart is how people will remember him…