Say My Name, Say My Name.....If You Can
This is a revision of some writing that I worked on at the Sam Houston State University Writing Project.. I sure would appreciate a comment or two or three or four or a thousand. Just sayin'. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to Teresa Batres for her kind comments back in September. She too suffers from being misunderstood rather mispronounced. It's rather debilitating. However, what won't kill you will make you stronger, right? Something like that.
"Maureen Ellen!" my mom screamed up the narrow stairway. The sound of her voice reverberated from wall to wall. Her voice echoed so fiercely that I thought the house would shake off it's foundation. My eyes widened and I stood at attention. "Oh, no! What did I forget to do this time?" I said to myself. I was sure that I must have forgotten to take out the trash or wash the dirty pots and pans, that ached for a deep clean. There was a slight pause and then I heard it again, "Maur-een Ell-en!" This time I trembled and almost shook off of my foundation. I nearly fell down from the force of her voice ricocheting from the walls. "Com-ing Mom!" I shouted back so as to prevent any more voice quakes. You see my mom never, ever used my middle name unless I was in some serious, serious hot water. It was as if Ell-en was included in my full name so as to signal to me that she meant business. But for me, Maureen Ellen is quite the name to behold and cherish. No doubt. I love the way it sounds and rolls of the tongue so effortlessly. There is one little problem, however. No one, I mean seriously no one, can pronounce the Maureen in Maureen Ellen correctly. NO ONE!
Maureen, Marine, More-een, Murine, and Mao-reen are the many different pronunciations to my sweet sounding, yet frequently mispronounced and butchered first name. Apparently, there are a trillion or zillion different ways to pronounce, or should I say, mispronounce my name. I just wish that one time, someone would pronounce it correctly. Oh the horror! When will this ever stop?
My dear, sweet mother named me Maureen. She named me after the famous Hollywood Starlet named Maureen O'Hara. Her popularity skyrocketed during Hollywood's Golden Age. My Mom said she had gorgeous black hair and the prettiest green eyes. Being such a starlet, I wonder if she ever had to suffer from Cruel Mispronunciation Syndrome. It must have been something awful to experience.
My beautiful name will always cause mass confusion, in epic proportions. I mean, my mom could have named me Nancy or Noreen. No problem right? They're easy to say. But there's something very peculiar that occurs when it comes to Maureen. I don't understand and it is completely baffling. Why can't people of reasonable intelligence pronounce my name? It's not rocket science for crying out loud! I mean really! How hard is it to pronounce Maureen? Difficult, taxing? Try impossible! When it comes to my name, people seem to develop cases of full-blown dyslexia. The CDC has recognized this phenomena as almost pandemic! Bring out the HAZMATS! Calgon take me away!
I read in a book that Maureen means "little Mary". That's sounds nice to me especially because many wonderful women wear that name. Little Mary it is then! When I looked up the name Mary, I found that it means "bitter." Okay, that not so bad.. I suppose I could live with that. It could always be worse, ya know. Put the two meanings together. You get "Little Mary Bitter." Now I'm Little Mary Bitter. Can you blame me though? Couldn't you understand why I would be a little bitter about the constant mispronunciations? Sometimes suffering is sometimes intolerable. I just want to know, could someone please pronounce my name correctly? Someone, anyone? Bueller?
My lovely mother uses the Southern Ohio way of pronouncing my name. The first syllable is Maur which is pronounced like Maher, like Bill Maher the comedian. The second syllable 'een reads like seen. So now you have Maur-een...Maureen. Most people from the Northern parts of the United States and the Midwest just don't understand this type of pronunciation. They call me More-een. I guess since my name means little, they think I need more. More of what? I haven't quite figured that out yet. If you know me, I am anything but little. And I don't need more of anything. I am all of six feet tall. Six feet one with tennis shoes. Heels? Don't even go there. I wouldn't want to be compared to my twin, the Statue of Liberty! Flats or no shoes at all...thank you very much!
When I was a kid, I played Little League Baseball. I introduced myself to my coach and the boys as Maureen. I repeated my name, maybe two, three or four times. I knew that they wouldn't pronounce it correctly so I tried to help them. You would think repeating your name numerous times would help. You would think. Hardly. Not even a little bit. Someway, somehow, the boys on my baseball team must have had serious hearing problems or should have been possibly referred to a speech pathologist because they bludgeoned my name beyond recognition. In fact, upon further observation, I couldn't even recognize my poor name because it was grotesquely disfigured. Grotesquely. Within seconds, Maureen, a dignified and proud name, descended in the abyss. I wasn't Maureen anymore. I emerged as Marine! Yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you. Marine of the "the few and the proud, with the mettle to be a Marine" Marine. It didn't fit me one iota because I didn't have a jar head buzz cut or scream incessantly, "Sir! Yes, Sir!" Semper Fi wasn't a part of my nine year old vocabulary. Marine.Seriously? It just didn't fit. The Coach and the boys didn't care because that is the best that they could do. I gave up trying to correct them. It was futile. So it stuck, like hot glue on your grandma's favorite scrap book. I now had become Marine. When I took the mound to pitch, the team would sort of sing this chant that sounded akin to crickets chirping in August. "Come on Marine, come onbud, come on Marine, " they would continue that annoying chant, custom made for any boy. When it was mine turn to throw some serious heat, they didn't know quite what to do, since I am not a bud. So they improvised, just as they had done with my name. "Come on Marine, come on now, come on Marine!" they would scream at the tops of their lungs. It sounded absolutely ridiculous to me. Anyway you slice it, people just have problems with my name.
When I was in the Peace Corps in Honduras, Central America, the people in my little village pronounced my name in the most interesting way. This was to be expected since they would use the Spanish pronunciation of Maureen.They would say, "Maaaauuuuuurrreeen." The first part of my name, Mau, was pronounced like Mao of the Chinese Communist Premier Ma Tse-Tung. Then came the reen with a twirl with the "r". It didn't sit right with me. These Hondurans really tried their darndest to get it right. They would ask me how to say it several times a day. However, it was a thousand times better than, "Gringa! Gringa! Gringa!" Hearing, "Gringa! Gringa! Gringa!" ring in my ears almost caused me some serious hearing loss. My poor ears were ready to serve me walking papers. So I knew I had to think of something fast. To remedy this situation, I decided that I should become...wait for it....Marina! Marina was easy off the tongue and something completely natural for everyone. So I changed my name to Marina. I was Marina and everyone was happy.
When my mom named me Maureen, I am sure that she never considered the problems that it would create for me. She probably thought that everyone understood how she pronounced it. Maureen. Such a pleasant, yet chaotic name. Hey it could be worse. I could have been named Diane. My sister Diane has a very common name. No pomp or circumstance. I have never heard anyone having trouble pronouncing Diane. No effort, no problem. Come to think about it, I supposed my name does suit me. Maureen is definitely more than a little and I am no longer bitter. Not anymore, just a little more patient. Through all of this, I have learned that Maureen is quite a unique name. Certainly I must appreciate all the interesting memories and hilarious stories that have come from it. Alright then! My name is Maureen. That's Maur like Bill Maher with the 'een sort of like sardine. It is a pleasure to meet you.
Say My Name, Say My Name.... If You Can
By Maureen Ucles
"Maureen Ellen!" my mom screamed up the narrow stairway. The sound of her voice reverberated from wall to wall. Her voice echoed so fiercely that I thought the house would shake off it's foundation. My eyes widened and I stood at attention. "Oh, no! What did I forget to do this time?" I said to myself. I was sure that I must have forgotten to take out the trash or wash the dirty pots and pans, that ached for a deep clean. There was a slight pause and then I heard it again, "Maur-een Ell-en!" This time I trembled and almost shook off of my foundation. I nearly fell down from the force of her voice ricocheting from the walls. "Com-ing Mom!" I shouted back so as to prevent any more voice quakes. You see my mom never, ever used my middle name unless I was in some serious, serious hot water. It was as if Ell-en was included in my full name so as to signal to me that she meant business. But for me, Maureen Ellen is quite the name to behold and cherish. No doubt. I love the way it sounds and rolls of the tongue so effortlessly. There is one little problem, however. No one, I mean seriously no one, can pronounce the Maureen in Maureen Ellen correctly. NO ONE!
Maureen, Marine, More-een, Murine, and Mao-reen are the many different pronunciations to my sweet sounding, yet frequently mispronounced and butchered first name. Apparently, there are a trillion or zillion different ways to pronounce, or should I say, mispronounce my name. I just wish that one time, someone would pronounce it correctly. Oh the horror! When will this ever stop?
My dear, sweet mother named me Maureen. She named me after the famous Hollywood Starlet named Maureen O'Hara. Her popularity skyrocketed during Hollywood's Golden Age. My Mom said she had gorgeous black hair and the prettiest green eyes. Being such a starlet, I wonder if she ever had to suffer from Cruel Mispronunciation Syndrome. It must have been something awful to experience.
My beautiful name will always cause mass confusion, in epic proportions. I mean, my mom could have named me Nancy or Noreen. No problem right? They're easy to say. But there's something very peculiar that occurs when it comes to Maureen. I don't understand and it is completely baffling. Why can't people of reasonable intelligence pronounce my name? It's not rocket science for crying out loud! I mean really! How hard is it to pronounce Maureen? Difficult, taxing? Try impossible! When it comes to my name, people seem to develop cases of full-blown dyslexia. The CDC has recognized this phenomena as almost pandemic! Bring out the HAZMATS! Calgon take me away!
I read in a book that Maureen means "little Mary". That's sounds nice to me especially because many wonderful women wear that name. Little Mary it is then! When I looked up the name Mary, I found that it means "bitter." Okay, that not so bad.. I suppose I could live with that. It could always be worse, ya know. Put the two meanings together. You get "Little Mary Bitter." Now I'm Little Mary Bitter. Can you blame me though? Couldn't you understand why I would be a little bitter about the constant mispronunciations? Sometimes suffering is sometimes intolerable. I just want to know, could someone please pronounce my name correctly? Someone, anyone? Bueller?
My lovely mother uses the Southern Ohio way of pronouncing my name. The first syllable is Maur which is pronounced like Maher, like Bill Maher the comedian. The second syllable 'een reads like seen. So now you have Maur-een...Maureen. Most people from the Northern parts of the United States and the Midwest just don't understand this type of pronunciation. They call me More-een. I guess since my name means little, they think I need more. More of what? I haven't quite figured that out yet. If you know me, I am anything but little. And I don't need more of anything. I am all of six feet tall. Six feet one with tennis shoes. Heels? Don't even go there. I wouldn't want to be compared to my twin, the Statue of Liberty! Flats or no shoes at all...thank you very much!
When I was a kid, I played Little League Baseball. I introduced myself to my coach and the boys as Maureen. I repeated my name, maybe two, three or four times. I knew that they wouldn't pronounce it correctly so I tried to help them. You would think repeating your name numerous times would help. You would think. Hardly. Not even a little bit. Someway, somehow, the boys on my baseball team must have had serious hearing problems or should have been possibly referred to a speech pathologist because they bludgeoned my name beyond recognition. In fact, upon further observation, I couldn't even recognize my poor name because it was grotesquely disfigured. Grotesquely. Within seconds, Maureen, a dignified and proud name, descended in the abyss. I wasn't Maureen anymore. I emerged as Marine! Yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you. Marine of the "the few and the proud, with the mettle to be a Marine" Marine. It didn't fit me one iota because I didn't have a jar head buzz cut or scream incessantly, "Sir! Yes, Sir!" Semper Fi wasn't a part of my nine year old vocabulary. Marine.Seriously? It just didn't fit. The Coach and the boys didn't care because that is the best that they could do. I gave up trying to correct them. It was futile. So it stuck, like hot glue on your grandma's favorite scrap book. I now had become Marine. When I took the mound to pitch, the team would sort of sing this chant that sounded akin to crickets chirping in August. "Come on Marine, come onbud, come on Marine, " they would continue that annoying chant, custom made for any boy. When it was mine turn to throw some serious heat, they didn't know quite what to do, since I am not a bud. So they improvised, just as they had done with my name. "Come on Marine, come on now, come on Marine!" they would scream at the tops of their lungs. It sounded absolutely ridiculous to me. Anyway you slice it, people just have problems with my name.
When I was in the Peace Corps in Honduras, Central America, the people in my little village pronounced my name in the most interesting way. This was to be expected since they would use the Spanish pronunciation of Maureen.They would say, "Maaaauuuuuurrreeen." The first part of my name, Mau, was pronounced like Mao of the Chinese Communist Premier Ma Tse-Tung. Then came the reen with a twirl with the "r". It didn't sit right with me. These Hondurans really tried their darndest to get it right. They would ask me how to say it several times a day. However, it was a thousand times better than, "Gringa! Gringa! Gringa!" Hearing, "Gringa! Gringa! Gringa!" ring in my ears almost caused me some serious hearing loss. My poor ears were ready to serve me walking papers. So I knew I had to think of something fast. To remedy this situation, I decided that I should become...wait for it....Marina! Marina was easy off the tongue and something completely natural for everyone. So I changed my name to Marina. I was Marina and everyone was happy.
When my mom named me Maureen, I am sure that she never considered the problems that it would create for me. She probably thought that everyone understood how she pronounced it. Maureen. Such a pleasant, yet chaotic name. Hey it could be worse. I could have been named Diane. My sister Diane has a very common name. No pomp or circumstance. I have never heard anyone having trouble pronouncing Diane. No effort, no problem. Come to think about it, I supposed my name does suit me. Maureen is definitely more than a little and I am no longer bitter. Not anymore, just a little more patient. Through all of this, I have learned that Maureen is quite a unique name. Certainly I must appreciate all the interesting memories and hilarious stories that have come from it. Alright then! My name is Maureen. That's Maur like Bill Maher with the 'een sort of like sardine. It is a pleasure to meet you.
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