Your name tells a story, here's mine

(or how has your name impacted you?)

“Your name is Filet Mignon?”

This was in the sixth grade when a new kid came to class. He was one of the few black kids at our Asian diverse school, and on his first day he answered Mrs. Kunakau’s questions as best as he could.

“Your name is Filet Mignon?”

“Yes.”

She said it louder and slower, “Your name is Filet Mignon?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents,” she was really exploring the weight of her words, “named you, Filet Mignon.”

“Yes.”

Now at Mililani Waena Elementary School in 1985 not many of us, nay, I’d say none of us knew what a filet mignon was, but we knew that his name was…different.  

May Day is Lei Day in Hawaii… my classmates and I getting ready to perform playing our Hawaiian instruments

My name has definitely impacted me. Although, I’m not sure how. I just know that I like my first name, my middle name’s a tongue twister, and my last name sounds like a male reproductive organ, so maybe that’s significant. 

In Hawaii, Lani is a common name. My Chinese grandma named me because I was born in Hawaii. I was her son’s first born and since my mom had just arrived from Thailand, my parents probably wanted to give her the honor. So, growing up with a Hawaiian name in Hawaii was nice. I was frequently asked if I was Native Hawaiian, if my name was an abbreviation for a longer name (again, common), and everyone knew how to say it.

But once I left Hawaii for junior high in California, college in Colorado, and beyond, folks found a way to say my four letter name wrong. I used to say, “my name’s like Loni Anderson”, realizing that the way she looks, busty blond with big hair, was very different from the slight Asian that was staring back at them. Basically, people say the “a” - as in average instead of the “a” - as in awesome. And the Brits, bless them, really like to use the former “a” sound.

Research suggests that your name affects the level of success you’ll achieve in your career and love life, and even where you choose to live. — Big Think

My college professor, the very British Dr. Duke had an argument with me in front of class, over the correct pronunciation of my name. (I won.) But this was also the man who, on the first day of SW Anthropology, taught us that Liverpool was the center/centre of the universe, and whinged over how us Americans said his name wrong.

It does get awkward, when someone continually says your name incorrectly, like my former boss (until my colleagues staged an intervention and it was hilarious). But sometimes you reach a point of no return, where you feel like if you correct their pronunciation it will look bad, like why didn’t you say something sooner? It’s okay, I’m used to it, and with so many things to get upset over, I’ve decided this isn’t one of them.

But it turns out that Lani is a great name to have overseas, especially as an English teacher. The “ee” ending sound, it turns out, is easy for Ecuadorians, Thais, and Cambodians to say. Unlike other teachers, I haven’t had to change my name to accommodate non-native English speakers like Audra to Otter (love that) or Michael to Mickey.

Last day of class with some fun students. I’d say! [Chiang Mai, Thailand, 2012]

My middle name is Valapone, and I know you’re saying it wrong because it’s not spelled the way you’d say it. Valapone comes from my Thai mother.  

It’s supposed to be one of her names, but she’s got a gazillion names. Her Thai friends in Hawaii call her Valapone, or Pon for short. But back in Thailand, she has a different nickname based on her full moon birth. In the US, her “formal” name is Janpan–which became Japan in the phonebook and other places like her mail, and we always got a good giggle out of that.

The problem is Thai sounds don’t translate well into English, so, my Chinese American father did the best he could with her name and mine (and well, even my brother). But there’s no “v” sound in Thai, so I’m not sure why he chose it, instead of “w”. If my name was spelled the way it sounded it would look more like this, Walapawn. Interestingly, one of my coworkers from my days as a bookkeeper for a non-profit internet service provider (you read that right) asked if my middle name was Italian. I guess he thought the ending “e” had that Italian flair like spaghetti, or rigatoni, or Maserati. 

"Because a name is used to identify an individual and communicate with the individual on a daily basis, it serves as the very basis of one's self-conception, especially in relation to others," says David Zhu, a professor at Arizona State University, who researches the psychology of names.

Now, my last name, it turns out, confuses people a great deal, but I went through most of my life not understanding why. Instead, I’d watch people do a double take whenever my name was called for job interviews or at various appointments where you’re required to sit in a waiting room with magazines or a silent TV. I was often asked if I was married or adopted because Cox couldn’t be my maiden name. It just couldn’t. I looked more Chinese than Chairman Mao.

I had no idea they were expecting a Chen, Zhang, Wang, Xiu or Li because, you know, it’s my name, and so, I just blinked back, wondering if this was part of the “getting to know you” process.

It’s like this. My father was adopted by Mr. Kenneth Elvis Cox, a British American, and he took on his adopted father’s name. In fact, his first name became John, named after Mr. Cox’s brother in Montana. So, Hwa Lin Chu from Peking, China became John H. Cox from Honolulu, Hawaii. And there you have an example of the continuation and tradition of many immigrants changing their ethnic names to sound more American. You’re welcome.

Dad and Mom somewhere in Thailand (maybe Ubon Ratchathani?) circa 1972-3

In junior high, the boys in my class started calling me by my last name, so I knew something was up. In high school, a group of mean girls wrote my name as “cock” on our group project. I quietly corrected them and hated them for being such bitches. When I started teaching at a Waldorf school, it was weird to be referred to as Miss Cox. A few of my first graders started calling me Miss Coxy, as a term of endearment, but the parents didn’t like it.

By now, I hope we have outgrown what my last name sounds like. But I did learn through behavioral conditioning that I needed to spell my last name each and every time I needed to say it. In fact, I’d sometimes spell it before I even said it. I mean, over the phone? One hundred percent. I’ve had some real touch and go moments with nice people, walking them through the spelling of my three letter surname. And in case you don’t know, I speak standard American English, no accent. 

(I can do accents, but not very well. My British friends tell me I sound Australian when I try to do them. Bastards.)

So, I love it that Substack allows me to just use my first name. No one needs to assume I’ve taken on my husband’s name, or that I’m adopted, or that I panicked for a Western name and chose this one. 

Recently, a colleague and I were talking about my last name, and he said that he knew only one other Cox. And whenever someone had asked about his surname he’d explain, “Plural, not singular”.

I wonder how ‘ol Filet’s doing?