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The first day of fifth grade is one memory I will never forget, even after decades. My teacher called roll call for our class of 30 students. We all had names. “Lauren. I was surprised. Secretly, I wished it was just me.”
I always I loved my nameI didn’t know Lauren was a popular name until I was about 10. Over the years, I got used to parents in the early ’80s giving their kids the same name as me.
My Chilean father, Jorge, immigrated to the United States at age 28. Everyone called him George. His passport, driver’s license, and other official documents listed him by his birth name, Jorge. Like most immigrants, he It’s best to assimilateHe adopted the anglicized version of his name as a way to minimize attention and blend into America’s melting pot, making his name easier for co-workers and customers to pronounce.
When I was growing up, I thought it was cool that my dad had two names, one Spanish and one English, and I wanted to be like him and have two names, even though he didn’t. Teach me Spanish.
My name doesn’t exist in Spanish
I visited my grandmother a few times a year, and she didn’t speak much English. She didn’t start learning English until she was 50, but I would always ask her, “How do you say my name in Spanish?” Her answer was always the same: “Your name doesn’t exist in Spanish.” I was disappointed and depressed.
I didn’t understand it then, but I wanted to be a part of something bigger, something that was, of course, intangible — something that seemed within reach, yet so far away. Now, as an adult, I understand that I wanted to be a part of my father’s life. Culture and Connections Him and his family, including my grandmother. I wanted to feel like I belonged there.
Asking if my name exists in Spanish was my way of forging a connection with my grandmother despite our language differences. After all, neither of us spoke the other’s native language. I may not have been successful or gotten the answer I was hoping for, but I now understand that my question had a deeper meaning.
When I speak Spanish, I say my name differently.
In my late 20s, I moved to Spain to teach English as a language assistant in high schools. My real goal was to learn Spanish and become fluent in it. Whether I was making a restaurant reservation or completing an in-person paperwork transaction, I quickly realized that when I said my name, most Spaniards would ask me to repeat it multiple times. Over time, I stopped saying my name the way I would in the US (Lor-in). Instead, I started pronouncing it the way I would pronounce my name in Spanish (Lao-wren) to save myself the time and frustration of having to repeat myself multiple times.
Similar to what my father may have experienced while living in America, I have learned that it is easier to adapt. Not only is it more convenient for the other person, but it also saves me the hassle of having to repeat myself and constantly being reminded that I am a foreigner.
Apparently my grandma’s name wasn’t exactly right. Lauren isn’t a Spanish name and doesn’t translate directly, but it can be pronounced in Spanish. My name can adapt to either language. I’m grateful that my name can have two pronunciations, even if it’s a reminder that I come from somewhere else. And maybe it’s ironic that, as the daughter of Chilean immigrants, I’ve always sought to fit in and belong.