My day with children, dogs and hooligans.
So I woke to an invitation to a dogs 1st birthday party, had lunch with 10 people and then headed out to my friends house to hang out with him and his two hilarious daughters. (although one was supposed to be asleep…. she ended up running around and said my name clearer than my niece does)
There were costume changes, and snacks (or nacks and garboons) and amazingly good discussions about soviet times and girls. We saw a play about a fairy pixie fighting a dragon. We danced and sang to multiple singing animals, but as I walked away from an enjoyable few hours I thought about how the younger lady said my name. “Deramy”. Like many cultures the ‘J’ and the ‘r’ in my name gets a little confusing. I was honoured that Daphne knew my name, that she had labelled me something. I recently read an article of a Texan judge trying to get Korean Americans to change their names to be more American, and it clicked. The labeller should choose what we are called. My parents called me Jeremy. My niece calls me ‘derramee’, Cambodians called me jelli, or something close. Brazilians call me yerramias and etc. Its honouring that they label me at all and I don’t have to be precious about how it is pronounced because some people can’t make certain sounds with their mouths. (like how I can’t roll my r’s or say anything properly Swedish, or how I can’t really pronounce Rs at all unless they are not in the word.)
So I suppose what I’m trying to say is… be nice. Learn peoples names or… let people change yours.