My name is Claudia pronounced "Clou-thee-a," your tongue makes contact with your hard palate has you say "di." It is a Spanish pronunciation, the kind of pronunciation in which my name sounds as if it was made out of something finesse, like silk. Not the English pronunciation in which my name sounds to be made of something harsh like sand paper or broken glass. Sandra Cisneros, the author of one of my favorite books, describes it best and even though my name is not Esperanza (which means Hope) I understand what she is talking about.
I did not get to pick my name and if you ask my mother, she would tell you a beautiful story of how my name was suppose to be Alejandra; however when I was born she changed her mind and her reasoning now for giving this name that in latin means lame is simple. She just liked this name. I have the nutty theory that she changed her mind on my name because Alejandra is too much of an average name. And let's face it I am anything but average.
All throughout my early years (ages 5-12), I hated my name. I grew up in a Chicano neighborhood in which for some strange reason Claudia and Maria were very popular names. In kindergarten, I remember having four other, not including myself, Claudias in my classroom. The urge to be an individual was very difficult to fulfill when I was known to my teacher as Claudia G. However, I never had anyone call me anything but Claudia (Clou-thee-a). The pronunciation of my name was never an issue and as a matter of fact nicknames would always replace my name. The times that people would call me Claudia I secretly wished I had a different name something like Deborah or Cassandra. A name that would fit my exquisite personality, something strong that would say "look out here comes danger." But no, my name is Claudia, which means lame in latin.
As I got wiser I came to terms with my name. I accepted my name with all its cruel beauty. During my undergraduate experience I would bump into people that would not pronounce it right and I would explain to them that my name was pronounce in Spanish not English. For those that had trouble pronouncing my name a solution was giving me a nickname. Soon the nickname "Clau" became a trend amongst my co-workers and dear friends.
When I made the move to Missouri, I found myself with the decision to keep my name or give in to becoming Claudia-English version. Going through what Phinney calls Ethnicity Identity Development, I soon come face to face with the land of compromises. What parts of my culture do I keep and which am I willing to compromise in? The pronunciation of my name was the one thing I could not compromise in.
I found a piece of my culture in my name. My name is the label that constantly reminds me that I am who I am because of where I come from. My name is one of the many beautiful gifts my mother gave me. My name is the shiny medal that deserves respect. My name speaks of beautiful things that I cannot even explain.
I sincerely appreciate when people make an ultimate effort to pronounce my name as I pronounce it and I am aware that this might be seen as something insignificant. Still, by the mispronunciation of my name I am simply reminded that I am in unknown land. I am in an "X" in a land of "O's."
