At the beginning of every term, I introduce myself to my students. I say, “Hi folks, I’m Anna Cook. You can call me Dr Cook or Anna. It’s spelled like ‘Anna’ but pronounced ‘On-a’ just to make things difficult. No, but really, the movie Frozen has changed my life”.
It’s a little bit… I don’t really teach as much as string a bunch of little bits together. I’m sure they love it… right?
I come from a family with names that just make things difficult. My mum is ‘Saw-ra’, not ‘Say-ra’. My dad spells his name with more ‘i’s than you might need.
As a kid, I wanted to be an Ashley or Amanda.
I went to a French school and so my name was rarely pronounced in English. This removed the confusion between ‘A-nuh’ and ‘On-a’.
I got mocked for correcting people. “Oh, it’s ONNNNN-A”.
One of my oldest friends still mispronounces my name and sometimes jokes of a time “before my name was ‘On-a’”.
And so, I stopped correcting people. It was fine if you called me ‘A-nuh’. No problem at all.
After high school, I went to an English school for the first time.
At the beginning of term, the professor would say, “Let me know if I get your name wrong”.
It took me a few years to speak up. “Actually, it’s ‘On-a’”. “Oh, ok”. Sometimes the change would stick, but often the correction would lead to my name turning into ‘Hannah’, ‘Anya’, ‘Anne’ — sometimes LIKE ‘Anna’ but not quite.
I rehearsed what I would say. “It’s pronounced ‘On-a’”. “It’s actually ‘On-a’”. “No big deal, but it’s ‘On-a’, not ‘A-nuh’, but it’s fine”.
Someone once responded, “Oh, like ‘ON A table’”. They laughed. They thought it was hilarious. I laughed too… a bit frustrated. My name was more than a damn preposition.
But then I started using it as a trick to help it stick. “My name is Anna Cook… like ‘on a table’… ha ha”.
I have a dear friend who still writes me letters addressed to ‘Anna Table Cook’.
It was around the time that I started correcting people (well, my teachers) about how to pronounce my name that I first went to therapy.
I was seeing a specialist in CBT (cognitive behaviourial therapy) to help with my panic attacks and PTSD symptoms after a shooting at my school.
For her, the primary source of my troubles was a lack of assertiveness.
She gave me homework to work on this. For example, I’d have to speak up and say something if I received the wrong order at a restaurant. That sort of thing.
This felt far outside the realm of the possible.
I’m allergic to dairy and I’d much rather suffer the belly aches from drinking cow’s milk than tell the barista that I had actually ordered the latte with soy milk. This is not hyperbole… I’ve had the stomach aches to prove it.
And so, I lied to my therapist when she asked me about the homework. I told her I did it and that it wasn’t so bad.
I should give some background. I was seeing this specialist because a family friend worked with her and I was able to bypass the waitlist.
The fact that I was having multiple panic attacks a day, avoiding public transit, and spending much time mentally rehearsing my exit plans was not in itself a good enough reason, I thought, to warrant seeing the specialist. I must be seeing her as a professional favour.
I never felt really comfortable with this therapist. Her time was too valuable and other patients were far more deserving. My wounds were not deep enough and I believed that my pain was not severe enough to deserve the attention.
This therapist who told me that we had to work on my assertiveness called me ‘Anne’ for the eight months that we worked together.
I never corrected her.
I never returned the milk latte.
If it was a test, I failed.
I have a difficult time pronouncing some of my students’ names, especially at the beginning of term.
I try really hard to get it right.
I had a student who shortened her name and told me that it was fine if I called her that to make it easier… ‘that’s what everyone did’.
I asked, “But what do you prefer? That’s what matters to me.”
It was a political philosophy class on multiculturalism.
Midway through the term, we were talking about the difference between integration and assimilation. While usually a quiet student, she spoke out about how it feels that people have a hard time pronouncing her name.
It was a powerful moment that helped solidify and make real the often abstract concepts discussed in the class.
And so, I still use my little comedy bit to introduce myself… and I double-check with students one-on-one to make sure I get their names right.
It’s those little things that really matter.
