Hi there! My name is Alex. A pretty straightforward name, right? But you’d be surprised how often folks assume my name is something else entirely. I’ve heard it all—Jon, Juan, Jowan, Jaan, and even Johan! Let’s clear this up: I’m not Jonathan, Johnny (though I wouldn’t mind that one), or Jack. And for the record, I’m definitely not “JHON.” Who even thought that was an option? I must be the only Alex who’s had their name so mismanaged.
Here’s the deal—when people see me, it seems their brains short-circuit. Sure, my beard doesn’t help the situation, especially when I’m getting pulled aside by TSA for “random” checks. But somehow, it’s as if their minds can’t process the combination of what they see and hear. Their internal dialogue must go something like this: “No way this guy is named Alex. He must be Ali or Samir. Something more…ethnic.”
Then, when I introduce myself as Alex, confusion ensues. “How do you spell that?” Oh, the urge to respond with, “How do you think it’s spelled?” But I don’t. I calmly spell it out, only to be met with, “Oh! But that’s not your real name, right?”
Actually, it is. My parents—immigrants from Egypt—thought they were doing me a favor by giving me a name that would help me blend in. They wanted to shield me from the teasing that often comes with having an “exotic” name. I had a friend named Zara whose parents didn’t have the same foresight, and let’s just say her childhood was a bit rocky. Imagine being in second grade with a name that your classmates think belongs to a character in a Bollywood movie.
My parents came to this country with dreams of a brighter future for their children, and they wanted to ensure I had the best chance to fit in. They envisioned my life here and didn’t want my name to be a hurdle. My dad often told me I could aspire to be president, and I’d laugh, but in his mind, part of that dream hinged on my name sounding as American as apple pie.
I can almost picture the scene that led to my naming: my dad, dreaming of my future, wakes up in a panic shouting, “We have to name him Alex!” They chose a name that would spare me from unnecessary complications.
But here’s the twist—not only do I face these curious questions, my brothers, named Matt and Jake, don’t get the same treatment. My wife, whose name is Sarah and is also Egyptian, has a similar experience. I can’t help but wonder if it has to do with how we all look. Perhaps my name doesn’t shield me from assumptions as much as they thought.
Maybe Zara’s parents weren’t so off-base after all. In the end, a name doesn’t alter the way others perceive us, does it? I sometimes ponder whether I should switch to something more conventional. But could I really be president with a name like Khalid or Suleiman?
For more on navigating the complexities of names and identities, check out this insightful piece on home insemination strategies.
Summary:
Choosing a name for your child, especially as an immigrant, can be a complex decision. Parents often opt for names that help their children fit in, but these choices can lead to misconceptions and assumptions about identity. Names can shape experiences, and while they may seem like a minor detail, they can carry significant weight in social interactions.