Saturday, May 05, 2007

The beauty of a name
Current mood: content
Category: Life

Growing up in a suburb like mine, having the name Natali was kinda rough. I was pretty much the only person with the name and the only real “famous” Natali’ that anyone would have heard of at the time was the chick from the Facts of Life. I HATED the fact that she had my name. Most of my generation watched that show and she was so frickin’ annoying. Blech. So, I really disliked my name. It grew on me as I got older, when I got to that age where being different didn’t suck quite so bad. Then, I got to the point where I liked it. It was during the time where I guess I finally just started feeling comfortable in my own skin really.

Like, dislike, indifference, all the phases I went through with it, never once did I think it was beautiful until I was 22. Living in California for a while at that point, I had finally gotten used to hearing other people being called Natalie. It took a while for me to stop saying “what?” every time I heard it. It’s commonplace settled in though. I was running a group home for autistic children at the time. My little guys were all amazing and I loved every one of them. One, in particular, was a challenge to me. Ryan didn’t speak at all, except his own name on rare occasion and singing “bah bah black sheep” to his toy radio. There had to be some way to get through to him and I worked my ass off on trying to find it.

After several months of being there, I noticed he used to like to watch whomever was in the kitchen cooking. So, I hunted down a cooking class for those with special needs and started taking him. The third class, the case manager for the company decided to come with me and Ryan. I am so glad she did. We had gotten to class earlier than usual and we walked Ryan to the bathroom. We sat there talking by the sink while we were waiting for him. Not but 10 seconds before he came out of the stall, I heard “Natali.” I just sat there agog, staring at the CM, hoping she had heard it too. “Did he just say your name?” Ryan came out of the stall, looked at her and me and said “Yes, Natali.” I cried. Yup, that’s right. I stood there in the bathroom, watching him wash his hands with tears just rolling down my face. It was the only time I would ever hear him say it, but it didn’t matter. I knew at that time that I had gotten through. Hearing his voice speak it, my name sounded beautiful.

Flash forward to present time and my name spawns a story that sums up the residents at the facility I run now. They are all amazing in their own way as well and I love the hell out of them too. While most of them call me Natali, there are three that have their own name for me. Robert calls me Natasha, Michael calls me “Antanette” (yes pronounced like that) and Will calls me Nadia.

About three weeks after I started the job, I was in my office one morning while Michael came running up. “Antanette, Antanette, I didn’t get my hug yet this morning.” The next thing I know Robert is standing there “Michael, you’re nuts, her name is Natasha.” Then Will “You’re both stupid, her name is Nadia.” A heated argument ensued. I attempted to diffuse it by saying “Actually guys, my name is Natali.” Will turned at me and yelled “Shut up, Linda!”

And Robert still calls me Natasha, Michael still calls me Antanette and Will still calls me Nadia. As for Linda, I’m still trying to figure out who she is.