“The name we give to something shapes our attitude toward it.” — author Katherine Paterson
Our names help define us and our personalities, often distinguishing us from others and playing a role in how society perceives us.
I guess Knowshon Moreno’s mother didn’t get the memo. Yes, no joke, that’s the name of one of the Denver Broncos’ first-round draft picks. A combination of his father’s nickname, Knowledge, and his mother’s name, Varashon.
We equate people’s names with achievements or misfortune. Think: the Kennedys, Oprah, and now President Barack Obama. His first name is Arabic and literally translated means “blessed.”
Given his command of the English language, impressive dossier and rapid ascension to the presidency, it seems his mother made the right choice.
A few years ago, America’s favorite father, Bill Cosby, received praise and flack for criticizing how some socioeconomically deprived blacks were raising their children. Among his criticisms: the made-up monikers some parents bestow on their progeny.
According to the website , the origin of many Muslim names is Arabic with some borrowing from Persian or Turkish heritage. African names may reflect the circumstance of a child’s birth, such as Marijani or Bahari, which in Swahili mean coral and sea, respectively. The complexity of tribes, ethnic groups and religions in Africa results in a broad mixture of uses derived from Islamic and Christian faiths.
The reality is this: I and others — black and white — cringe when we hear parents calling out to the Ray- Quans and Chariquitas of the world.
A few years ago two college professors conducted a study testing the screening of job applicants for interviews based solely by the names on their resumes. Applicants with white-sounding names, such as Sara or Todd, were 50 percent more likely to be called for an interview than those with black-sounding names, even though all applicants had the same experience, education and skills.
While it may not be fair or right, it’s real. Black children need to be provided as many advantages as possible in a world that doesn’t always, or easily, acknowledge their abilities and intellect. And that includes providing them with a racially neutral- sounding name.
Names like Chaniqua and Lakeisha make it difficult for teachers, who often stumble over these odd spellings and pronunciations. Imagine being 3 years old and trying to spell Courvoisier. Unfortunately, based on their class, some blacks view old school names like Katherine or Rebecca as being white.
To be fair, white people, primarily celebrities, have given their children some obscure names, too. Like Zuma Nesta (mom: Gwen Stefani) and Moon Unit Zappa (dad: Frank Zappa), but that’s another column.
Whites in the general population tend to stick with traditional names, like Joshua or Rose. I have a cousin who told me that he and his wife were very careful to choose non-black-sounding names for their children.
What many blacks who are supposedly reaching back to their African heritage don’t understand is that many black Africans have English names, like Gabriel and Josephine. Among the few African professors I had in college whose names were more “ethnic,” the pronunciations were simple, like Sana (think Santa without the t) and Momodu (pronounced Mom-o-do).
I suspect Janice Combs understood the importance of bestowing a strong, solid name on her only child when she gave birth to Sean John Combs. Most people know him by his more familiar name, Puff Daddy, which lends him street cred with the Taishons and Keyshauns of the world.
But the music entrepreneur now has a clothing line and owns a store on Fifth Avenue bearing his birth name. Why? One can only speculate that from a marketing perspective, no sensible individual would pay $40 for a baseball cap, or any other merchandise, for that matter, with “P. Diddy” emblazoned on it.
Jennifer E. Mabry (jennifermabry@hotmail.com) is a writer living in Boulder.
