...to Offer a Corollary to '...the Power of Name Calling'

You may want to address someone by name; etiquette may call for you to address someone by name; and you may sense that someone could use the endorphin rush that results from hearing his name; but you don't know the name and the moment does not allow for you to ask.  I experience just such an occasion at the beginning of every new semester.  I walk into class determined to establish rapport and community in my small classroom, but I don't know any of these twenty four students' names.  The Italian Mama is old enough to address individuals as "Sir"  or "Ma'am" and not feel like a newly discharged Marine.  In fact, I know that the community-building effect on both the speaker and each sir and ma'am at least equals the relationship formed when addressing someone by their name. Modelling this act of courtesy to young college students gives them an opportunity to feel the respect you hope they will pay forward to others, especially their elders. 

The Italian Mama is old enough to know that "Sir" and "Ma'am" work at least as well as names.

...to Wonder Why My College Students Aren't Trying to Impress Me

On the first day of my freshman writing class, we all share things we think distinguish us from other people. I start the ball rolling by showing them the pebbles I swiped from Bruce Springsteen’s driveway 25 years ago (sorry, Bruce!), and by the time we get around the room, we have learned that one student was born with an extra thumb on each hand, another can curl his tongue into a four-leaf clover (he demonstrates proudly), and another can touch his elbow with his tongue (he demonstrates as well). When I read their first writing assignment, a memoir, I learn about a student’s first drunken night of debauchery, another’s experience of a car accident caused by her friend’s reckless driving, and yet another sensitive soul’s first night of intimacy with a new lover. I don’t mind. After teaching English for 12 years, I know that my job more closely resembles tending bar at the neighbor tavern than most people would think. 



All of this sharing early in the semester helps to establish rapport and relationships among the students. I’d like to think my classroom feels comfortable and welcoming to students. I call on students by name; I draw attention to mistakes I make lest they think I think I’m omniscient (like many professors I have suffered through), which helps me to get a laugh almost every class period; and I never suggest a revision of a student’s writing without publicly praising something about it first.



The mood turns decidedly sullen when I ask them to demonstrate their intellectual abilities. A request to summarize a short reading assignment may elicit one or two reluctant volunteers, as the rest of the class sighs in relief that they will not have to fulfill this apparently daunting task. An opportunity to share their revisions of a sentence based on a newly learned writing technique brings only downcast eyes, shrugs, and maybe a cricket chirp or two. More often than I care to tally, in response to a request to share an assigned writing task, a student will unabashedly say, "I don't have any ideas for that," or simply "No."

No?! I didn't even think that was an option.

Based on their early semester participation in our rapport-building activities, I know these students do not suffer from shyness. Many of their essays indicate that they are neither slow nor dim-witted. On the contrary, they are ambitious and earnest in their belief that if they earn good grades they will land plum jobs in their fields and be secure for the rest of their lives. They proudly admit that they feel lucky to be members of this university’s class of 2015 because they have dreamt of being here since they were small children.



The Italian Mama wonders about this puzzling contradiction: my students feel no compunction about demonstrating odd physical contortions or writing a memoir about the first time they got dangerously drunk on a camping trip, but when I give them the opportunity to demonstrate how smart they are, they punt.



The Italian Mama labors under no delusions that her students sit in rapt attention, hanging on her every word of sage advice, eager to practice a new writing technique. The fact remains, however, that no matter what they think about me or the class, I will be assigning their grades at the end of the semester. Given their ambitions for those made-to-order jobs, the Italian Mama would think that students would bribe me to call on them during class so they could impress me (and their classmates) with their earnest efforts, their humor, even their boldness in offering an unorthodox approach to an assignment. So often, what impresses me is an unmitigated apathy that is hard to ignore when it comes time to hand out final grades.

Why are my students not trying to impress me?

...to Wield the Power of Name Calling

My students called me by name today. Usually they get my attention by simply sidling up to my desk and clearing their throats, or glancing in my direction, or the ever popular, "Um, ...." I always respond because I understand their reticence. They attend a huge university filled with people they will see only once in their four or five years here. Even though I am their English teacher, they see little need to form a relationship with me because after the semester ends, few will ever see me again either in the classroom or on campus. 

But today was our last class meeting and there was a different feeling in the classroom, a more intimate, relaxed, and maybe even a little melancholy mood. Unlike most of their introductory level classes, my class roster tops out at twenty four students.  Instead of sitting in a lecture hall filled with several hundred students, my students see each others' faces, learn each others' names, and maybe (if we're lucky) interact with each other as we discuss issues of writing. They may not show it every class period, but today they indicated that maybe this class wasn't so bad after all, and they might even miss the small group learning environment. One young lady drew a chuckle as she pretended to weep when class wrapped up.  As they filed out, several thanked me by name, and I felt a small spark fire in my brain as if I had been lit up. 

Their small act of courtesy reminded the Italian Mama how special it feels to have someone use your name. When I was little, my sisters and I would make fun of my father when we went to a restaurant because he always made a big production of calling the waitress (mostly women back then!) by her name.  If she didn't have a name tag, he would ask her and repeat it so he got it right. Then, whenever we needed assistance, he would call her by name, say her name before he ordered - "Henrietta, I think I'll have the ribeye steak..." - , and thank her by name when she had served us our meal.

"Dad, it's weird.  You don't even know her!"

"But I know her name.  Don't you feel good when someone uses your name?"

"Yeah, but it's always someone I know."

"It's always polite to use a person's name if you can,"  Daddy concluded.

Now, many years later,  the Italian Mama knows that Daddy was a bit of a flirt and could be Machiavellian at times, so maybe his name calling in the restaurant had more to do with serving his own needs than being polite or boosting the spirits of the hard working waitress.  But the Italian Mama is old enough to know that he was definitely on to something. Addressing someone by name is more than just a demonstration of good manners; like all conventions of etiquette, name calling helps to nurture communities.

Many years ago, I attended a workshop called "Thinking and Writing" at Bard College. The prompt for one of the exercises asked participants to write for fifteen minutes about our names. If you had been peering in the window of that classroom, you might have thought the instructor had offered a million dollar prize to the writer with the most pages filled with reflections on her name. Pens blazed across white-lined paper and notebook leaves crackled as they were impatiently flipped over. Writers wrote furiously about something so precious and close to their hearts that the words couldn't get written quickly enough. The results took the form of pure poetry. As writers shared their essays, gasps of delight punctuated the readings as listeners reacted to the descriptions of the profound connections writers' had with their names. 

No wonder people feel a spark like a friendly tap on the back when someone calls them by name. The instant intimacy created by touching something people hold close to their hearts may be the reason why many people may avoid name calling unless they have a sustained relationship with the name bearer. They feel awkwardly connected to people they may not even know. But it is this very intimacy that makes name calling such a powerful social tool. You make a deep connection with someone you call by name, reaching the very core of her identity even if you don't know her - a happy paradox that can leave both name caller and the one called a little less lonely, a little more recognized. 

The Italian Mama feels powerful when she calls someone by name because she knows that she has lit  that person up, maybe for the only time today.