The Name Game

I know you're anxiously awaiting the expanded explanation of my post on Things I'm Often Afraid to Discuss (or whatever I called it). For one thing, you're probably really curious as to why I've been seeing a Mental Health Professional.* In particular, you may be wondering if that fact means that you should put some extra space between us as soon as possible. And I'll get to that, I really will, but I've got a lot going on right now so I really just need you to get off my back about it.

Anyway, what I'd like to briefly discuss right now is my name, specifically how it's pronounced. I don't mean my 'name,' which is 'Sass Pizzazz,' or 'hello dali,' or 'whateverthehelliwant.' I mean my In Real Life name, which is Jenna. It is a glorious name, a name worthy of angels and muses and queens and goddesses. It is short and poetic, yet it encompasses immeasurable meanings. It sounds good as part of The Name Game (Jenna Jenna bo benna, banana fanna fo fenna, Jenna!!). It is pronounced: Jen. Nuh.

And yet for some reason, throughout my lifetime, I have repeatedly encountered an unauthorized alternate pronunciation. Jeeeeeeeena. Long E. Gina. I would think that, to anyone reading it, my name's true pronunciation should be pretty evident, especially if the reader has any experience with phonics. Or reading in general. But, I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. I guess I can see how you'd mispronounce it if you'd never heard it before.

BUT. There remains a tenacious subgroup of people who, immediately after I introduce myself to them as 'Jenna,' begins referring to me as 'Gina.' NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I CORRECT THEM. Why is this? WTF? How many times do I have to say JEN. NUH. before you will stop calling me Gina? HOW MANY???

The most interesting part of all this, I've noticed (whenever I take a break from silently seething about it), is that these people, these people who insist on calling me Gina EVEN THOUGH I've introduced myself as Jenna, repeatedly, these people who have probably never even see my name in print and therefore cannot use that as an excuse for butchering it, generally fall into 2 subgroups: elderly white women, and black men. I do not understand why this is, because I wouldn't think that there are too many things that those two groups have in common, beyond the inability to say my damn name. Maybe they can use this as a jumping-off point for some sort of political alliance in the future... "If neither of us can pronounce the name Jenna, what else might we have in common??"

Anyway, I found myself thinking this evening that I fear for the day when I make friends with an elderly black woman (or an elderly black man? I'm not sure which gender would take precedence). I don't know what would be the result of a double dose of Can't-Say-My-Damn-Name Disease. I'm afraid that they would take it to the next level and just have my name legally changed to Gina.

*Perhaps the answer to the question, "Why am I seeing a Mental Health Professional?" is made clear in this very blog entry.