You name it.

"That's two z's and two e's, ma'am."

Okay. So if you work in a hospital, suffice it to say that you meet some pretty interesting people. And work there long enough and most certainly you'll run across some interesting names belonging to some of these interesting people.

Now.

While some are urban legend like the alleged mother who named her twins "O-ran-jello" and "Le-Mon-jello" because of what she received on her tray, there are absolutely some names that I can sho' nuff attest to as the truth. Some, like "Candida" (pronounced Can-deeed-a) or "Klamydia"(pronounced phonetically) were assigned by well meaning parents who simply didn't have the medical background to know that the name was synonymous with the kind of infection that could eventually land the young woman of the same name in stirrups. But then, there are the others. The ones that you can only shake your head at and say, "Why Lawd?" Like, when I was a resident, this sixteen year old girl who I met in the nursery who named her triplets "Hennessey", "Courvoisier", and "Remy."  (I will never forget the child saying, "Courvoisier sound so distinguished, don't it?") Ummm, yeah.

Anywho.

While I'm the first to admit that some of the most. . .uhh. . creative. . .names I've seen have belonged to--yes, I can admit it--my own people, I can definitely say that I have seen my fair share of doozies assigned to folks of other races.  One of my all time favorites is the little boy whose parents let his three year old sibling name him "Mister Cowboy." Another winner was the teen couple who named their twin boys "Buddy" and "Partner."  Ummm, yeah.  Then there's these crazy Hollywood names that have gone viral like "Apple" and "Zuma."  So. . . I can definitely say the . . .uhhh. . .creative. . .name thing crosses race and cultural lines.

However.

In the spirit of Black History Month, and as a person who has worked in hospitals for close to twenty years, I will admit what you all know is true: That my people take the name game to a whole 'nother level.

Now.

Before you go a-judging or tsk-tsk-tsking, let me just point out a few things.  While surely it might hinder one's potential to be the President of the whole United States with a distinguished name like "Courvoisier Alize Cole", history has definitely shown us that some of the biggest whoppers dished to my people have been overcome.

Such as.

Condoleezza. Two e's? Two z's? Really?  Oprah.  Yes, you bible readers--Mr. Winfrey meant to name her "Or-pah""-- as in, that chick who ditched Naomi after two quick hugs, leaving good ol' Ruth to pick up chafe and support mama-in-law all by her self. The legend is that her birth certificate actually says "Orpah"--but since everyone kept butchering its pronunciation, it became simply "Oprah." (It looks like it kind of worked out for her.)

But, I digress.

The whole  . . . .uhhh. . .creative. . .name thing has been going on for a long time, too.  Like, I'm sure that "Crispus" Attucks mother was savvy and well-meaning,  just like "Booker Taliaferro Washington's" mama was.  See?  It didn't start with Condie or Oprah.

Nor did it end there.

I bring you, exhibit A:  The Draper Brothers.

 

Yes, my friends. These afro-wearing, crocheted-hat donning, fly collar-rocking dudes happen to be my father and his brothers.  Seven dapper dudes, if I do say so myself--and seven dudes belonging to a family of . . . uhhh. . .creative. . .names. 

These are their sho' nuff God and Mama/Daddy given names. Birth certificates to prove it.

(Back row, l to r)  Dad--William Ralph Draper a.k.a. "Tony."  (Why "Tony?" Who knows. . .), Hiawatha Draper a.k.a. "Skeeter", Edsel Ford Draper a.k.a. "Chief" or "Wolf-man", Ponce de Leon Draper (who needs a nick name with a winner like that?) 

(Front row, l to r)  Donald Draper (blanking on middle name) a.k.a. "Boot", Woodrow Wilson Draper a.k.a. "Woody", and Bernard Jerome a.k.a. "Buh-nard" (since his Dad wanted him named Bernard) or just "Jerome" (since his Mom wanted him named Jerome.) 

Seeing as Jerome was the youngest, we all believe that this is the only reason he escaped being named after a historical figure or renamed as something having little to do with whatever that name was. Woodrow Wilson wasn't so lucky.

What can I say? We're a creative people! (Besides, what else would explain the song that got Cee-Lo Green the Lady Killer nominated for a Grammy this year?) Now, I'm not saying that I believe in full on carte blanche when  it comes to naming children, but what I do know for sure is that a lot of the folks attached to such names manage to do okay. . . . .as well as those related to them. Clearly this is the case considering how normal I turned out!  (Ha.)

Happy Black History Month!

Terms of endearment.

*names, details, etc. changed. . . .yadda, yadda, yadda. . .

 "You need anything, sweetie?"

"Mrs. Jasper?  Mrs. Charlesetta Jasper?" I overheard a nurse calling from the door  dividing the clinic from the waiting room.  Shortly after, a very snappily dressed Grady ultra-elder shuffled her way to the door with all of her weight leaning on her four pronged cane.  The nurse stepped backward and leaned her back on to the door to create more space for the patient. "You're gonna come right on through here, sweetie," she said while pointing toward the triage room.                                               

Mrs. Jasper pushed and stepped along with her cane, but inadvertently bypassed the triage door.  "No, no, sweetie. . . .over here," the nurse gently instructed her.

"Oh. . .I thought we was gon' go strett to the room," replied Mrs. Jasper in a wobbly voice.

"No, love, we're going right in here." The nurse gestured to the entrance and helped her into a chair to get her vital signs measured.

"Thank you," spoke Mrs. Jasper.

"Yes, ma'am, no problem." Mrs. Jasper smiled warmly and stuck out her left arm for the blood pressure cuff.

A few hours later, I walked downstairs to the gift shop to grab a quick diet Coke.  I was immediately greeted by Shanika, one of the cashiers.  "Hey, Dr. Manning!  How you doing?"

"I am so sleepy!" I replied with an exaggerated shake of my head. "I need a diet Coke fix!"

"And your granola bar, too?"  We both paused for a moment and shared a laugh, acknowledging how completely predictable these pitstops have become for me. 

"You doing alright, Miss Shanika?" I smalltalked as I rummaged through the refrigerator. I have this dumb practice of placing my hand on several drinks in an effort to choose the coldest one (probably one of the most completely asinine things I do on a daily basis.)

"I'm fine, baby," she answered with a broad smile. I liked her confidence and decided that the gleaming gold in her front tooth was fitting. I smile in return. Next, I sift through the granola bars and predictably choose the same "Peanut Butter" one. Finally, I hand it, along with the winning cola to Shanika.

I studied the cursive tattoos across her forearms and her long, curved acrylic nails as she rang up my two items.  She caught my eye and flashed that glowing smile once more.

"You want a bag, baby?" she asked.

"Naaah, I'm fine."

"Alright then, baby," she said pushing my purchase over toward me. "It's  good seeing you as always." Shanika dropped my change into my hand and nodded.

"Thanks, Miss Shanika!"

"Okay, babe."

I twisted open the bottle, took a few swigs and scurried back to the clinic.

As I headed up the stairs I found myself reflecting on words like "sweetie", "love", and "baby."  I recognize in that moment that Miss Shanika, who was easily fifteen years my junior, and the nurse who spoke to Mrs. Jasper, who could have been her granddaughter, both freely used the terms.

I asked myself if hearing Shanika call me "baby" offended me, and quickly admitted to myself that, for some reason, it did not. It's not like she is my close friend, or even someone who is old enough to be anything other than my "baby" sister. Maybe I should have been put off. Yet the "baby" that she kept using to address me sort of rolled off her tongue in a way that felt . . .I don't know. . .endearing. 

I thought about Mrs. Jasper. I could still see her appreciative smile, and decided that maybe she didn't mind her "sweeties" and "loves" so much either.

Or did she?

I still remember that time when I had my first pelvic exam, and the doctor kept calling me "sweetie" and "honey."  I hated it.  It made me feel creepy and patronized, even though I was only sixteen and a half and not yet fully aware that what I was feeling was even called "patronized."  Since then, subconsciously more than likely, I've never been a huge fan or user of those terms of "endearment" for my own patients.

But I'm still guilty.

Confession: I totally change my intonation when speaking to my Grady elders, and especially the Grady ultra-elders like Mrs. Jasper.  I ramp up my Southern hospitality and especially my "ma'am's" and "sirs." I even fine tune my "beg pardons?" and my "Good mornings." Now that I think of it. . . I have also convinced myself that tacking a "Miss" in front of someone's name when I don't know them or I'm younger than them makes me more respectful. . . but is it really? Couldn't that be bothersome, too?  And somehow it's like it just happens without me even thinking of it, just as I'm sure that nurse gave little thought to her pet names for Mrs. Jasper.  Without the "sweeties", yes, but could the musical quality of my voice be equally as. . .what do you call it. . . patronizing?


Hmmm.  

My friend Lesley M's kids attend a school where they call their teachers by their first names. Some deep thought has clearly gone into that decision, and that award-winning school is just as much in the bible belt as Grady Hospital.  But for some reason, I cringe when my kids roll up on adults and call them by any name that isn't preceded by a "Ms", "Mr.", an "Auntie" or an "Uncle." (And it ain't like I'm an award-winning child educator like that school. . . hello?) I wonder how their school would feel about "sweetie."


"Sweetie"
"Love"
"Baby"
"Honey"
"Dearheart"

Is it okay if you mean well and are deferential? How about if you're syrupy sweet and with a masterful southern twang?  Would mixing it in with "ma'am" or stirring it up with"sir" make it more okay? And is there some accepted age differential that must be present to make it cool? Like, if you can qualify for Medicare, do you have carte blanche to use these words, or if you're old enough to pay a mortgage and the recipient isn't--does that make it alright?

I mean, that gynecologist that left me with feelings of violation back in 1987 was quite senior to me--yet the thought of his words and actions still make me bristle to this day. (Just bristled.)

Hmmm.  (This time with a head scratch and a slow head nod.)

I'll throw this one out to y'all.  . . . . and this time, comment--okay sweetie?

Reflection from a Sunday: Literary License, A Southern Tradition

The old bible: The keeper of family lineages

Me: "Sir what does the 'J R' stand for in your name?"

JR: "It stands for J R."

Me: "No, I mean what's your real name."

JR: "It's J R."

Me: "Like on your birth certificate?"

JR: "I ain't never seen my birth certificate. Matter of fact, I ain't sure I even have one. But that is the name my mama and my daddy wrote in the front of the bible when I was born."

*Note: Back in the day (and probably still) folks used to keep track of lineage by scrawling down births and deaths in the front of the family bible. Many of my Grady patients, especially those in rural areas, weren't born in hospitals and never received birth certificates.

J R. That was his "God-given name." Not J R, short for John Ramsey or James Robert. Just J R, short for. . .well. . .J R. Just another one of those random things I love about working at Grady and the south in general. Like, what exactly went down in the moment when he was named? Somebody said, "Let's name him J R!" and somebody else said, "Jasper Ralph?" and somebody else said, "Naw, just J R." And that was the end of it. (Picture me looking so, so amused as I type this.) Aaaaah. . . . there is something about the deep south that gave folks such literary license when naming their children back in the day. King David, Queen Esther. . . .of course, the daughters named for fathers like "Charlesetta, Henrietta, and Lou-ella". . . oh and my favorite-- the middle initial that doesn't stand for anything in particular. . . just a letter and nothing else . . .awesome.

Okay, before you accuse me of making fun of my patients, I can assure you that I am not. As a matter of fact, I would be a hypocrite to do any such thing. And to help you understand just what I mean by this-- and to explain why I'm so. . .uh. . . creative--I'll share with you a piece of my own family history that, I promise you, is 100% true.

The Draper Family

Manning is my married name; in fact, when I first started working at Grady Hospital, my name was still "Dr. Draper." Anyways, my father's name is William Ralph Draper--but everyone calls him "Tony." Why? Because at some point in his life, somebody looked at him and thought he looked more like a "Tony" than a "William." Yep. Now my brother and all of my brother's friends mutated Tony into their affectionate nickname for him: "T-Tone." As a matter of fact, the name "T-Tone" has even evolved into a verb that is used to describe any tirade where someone gets torn a new you-know-what. We call it "pulling a T-Tone." (Dad used to be pretty feisty back in the day. . .what can I say?)

For example:

"I was in Kroger and the cashier lady threw my change at me and rolled her eyes! It was crazy!"

"Whaaaat? Then what happened?"

"I called the manager but she was lucky since I was two beats away from pulling a T-Tone up in there."

Although I have been pushed into "pulling a T-Tone" on a few folks in my lifetime, I don't call my dad by that name. I call my dad "Poopdeck." For me, it went from Daddy to Pops to Poppy to Pappy to Pappy Poopdeck (like Popeye's dad) and now just Poopdeck. Might sound crazy to you, but understand--this is what my family does. We butcher names until they are minced meat and unrecognizable--but as an act of love.

Friend: "Hey Kim, why does your sister call you 'Mizzolini?' "

Me: "She used to call me K.D. and then she changed it when I got married to K.M. but then she changed it to K-Mizzle (as in fo' shizzle) and then that just became Mizzle. It kind of goes back and forth between Mizzle, Miz, and Mizzolini."

Friend: "Uuhhhhh, yeah okay."

My mother's name is Cheryl. But her nickname growing up was "Sugar." So a lot of people call her "Shug" or "Shugsie" (or as my younger sister calls her "Boog-sie." Sigh.) I don't call her that, though. One day, I randomly started calling my mom "Toonces" (as in Toonces the driving cat from SNL.) I think it was because we were riding in the car and she was gripping the steering wheel like Toonces one day, which amused me. I have called her Toonces ever since, and when she calls me, she even says, "Hey, it's Toonces." Funny.

Poopdeck (Dad) is one of 11 kids, just about all of whom were born in their house (told you that was true.) His father, my late grandfather, was known to everyone as "Pipes." My father's eldest brother could not properly pronounce the word "papa" so he said "pipe-a." Pipe-a became "Pipes" and stuck. The real country folk say "Pipe" even though they think they are saying "Pipes." (Just an observation.) My maternal grandmother was called "Mudear" by everyone, short for "mother dear." Not really unusual for rural Alabama or the south in general. But that's where the not-really-unusual ends. . . .

The Draper Saga continues. . . .

Back to dad's eldest brother. His real name, written in the front of the bible, was Ponce de Leon Draper. Yep. Ponce de Leon. Like the dude who discovered the fountain of youth. Yep. Like that main thoroughfare in Midtown Atlanta. Oh, and the eldest sister's name was Mattie Henry Draper. Family legend has it that it was originally "Matt Henry" but somehow that became "Mattie." And that middle name? Um, yeah. . .you read that right. Henry. Why? Well for starters, Pipes middle name was Henry. And he just sort of thought Mattie Henry was a pretty name. Nice.

The Edsel Ford

Another son came along that Pipes and Mudear named, sigh, Edsel Ford Draper. Yep. Like the car pictured above. My Uncle Edsel Ford later legally changed his name to Edward Ford. But that doesn't really matter considering no one in our family ever called him either of those names. Most folks knew him as "Chief" or "Wolf." Why? I'm not sure. I mean, it's not like he looked like a Chief or a Wolf nor did he have the personality of either of those things either. In fact, he was the most incredibly gentle, easygoing and sweet-spirited man ever. Uncle Chief was one of my most favorite uncles. Isaiah was born on his birthday, but I didn't have the heart to name the kid "Edsel." (Sorry, Uncle Chief.)

It gets better. Another brother was named Hiawatha Draper. Oh yeah, no typo, Hiawatha. As in Hiawatha, the founder of the Iroquois Nation. Sigh. No middle name, thank goodness. Guess my grandparents felt that "Hiawatha" was enough for the poor kid. The family all calls him "Skeeter" since he used to be skinny like a . . well. . .mo-skeeter. But the rest of the world? Oh yeah, baby, they call him by his sho' nuff and bonified name: HIA-WATHA. And the best thing about him is that he totally owns the name and has somehow made it cool. Talk about bad ass.

Isaiah and Uncle Hiawatha a.k.a. Uncle Skeeter

Hungry for more of my lineage? You shall be fed! How about my dad's younger brother who's sho' nuff, front of the bible name is . . .wait for it. . .wait for it. . . .Woodrow Wilson Draper. Woo hoo!! Is that awesome or what? There's also Eula Bernice, who everyone calls "Renee." Why? I don't know. (Hell, why not?) Oh yeah, and I almost forgot-- Billie Joan Draper, who we all knew as "Auntie Tina." Maybe she looked more like a Tina? You got me.

More funny Draper Family factoids. . . .

I am perpetually amused by the fact that my dad was the fourth son, yet his dad decided that after naming the first three boys Ponce de Leon, Hiawatha and Edsel, that he'd name the fourth one William--after himself. How random is that? Well, if you believe like me that nothing is ever really random you'd have to just accept that, just maybe, there was some method to Pipes' madness when he divvied out all those whoppers. Ponce de Leon? Edsel Ford? Woodrow Wilson? Really Granddad? Really? (Oh yeah, and in case you wondered-- no matter what anyone says, I will always believe that the only reason dad didn't get Pipes' full moniker William Henry Draper was because the name Henry had already been taken--by his sister.)

***

And so the moral of this is simple: names around Grady and down south can mean everything or absolutely nothing. Some are on birth certificates or just written in the spines of old family bibles. The good news is that in these parts if you do get a name that you don't like--don't worry. The chances that anyone will actually call you by it are pretty slim. :)

P.S. If for some reason I call you anything other than your name, now you know to charge it to heredity and not my heart.

the Moo-Mooskis

With love,

The mother of Isaiah (aka Zay Zay aka Poops aka Poopy Santana aka Sunshine Boy) and Zachary (aka Zachariah aka Zacharoony Positoony aka Zack Attack aka Pooda aka The Great Poodowski aka Toogie aka Zachy Poo). . . .both of whom are collectively known as Thing 1 and Thing 2 aka The Cocopugs aka Los Chimichangos aka Mommy's Moo-Moos aka The Moo-Moos aka The Moo-Mooskis. . . .

Any funny names in your family?

Miss Manning, but not if you're nasty

Sometimes, no a lot of times, my Grady patients call me "Miss Manning" - even though they know I'm a doctor. It used to seem a bit curious to me, but my good friend and fellow Grady doctor, Lesley M. told me that she sees it as somewhat of a term of endearment. I think I am starting to agree with her on this one. No one ever says "Miss Manning" with a nasty snarl or a roll of their neck. In fact in the countless numbers of times I have heard expletives in the hospital, never once was it paired with the infamous "Miss Manning." In my experience, folks who want to curse you out generally get the title correct. (Not that I am the target of frequent cuss-outs. . . .however, you will come to learn that in a sho-nuff county hospital, you could very well get randomly cursed out for just standing there.) Anyways. . . .Lesley is probably right on this one- kiss my *expletive* is almost always followed by "doctor."

And so . . . . this morning I was rounding on one of the patients on the inpatient service with an intern and a student, and as always, I reintroduced myself as "Dr. Manning, the senior doctor on the team." The intern went over the plan with our patient, and referred to me, Dr. Manning, several times. She even said, "Dr. Manning wants to examine you now if that's okay." We finished the encounter, which was quite pleasant. The patient asked a few questions which we patiently answered, shared a bit of small talk and then bid her adieu. We'd been in there around 7 or 8 minutes or so, and I even wrapped up the visit by pointing to my badge and saying "If you have any questions or concerns, my name is Dr. Manning." Sure enough, as we walked out of the room, the patient smiled wide, raised her hand, and hit me with a cheerful, "Thank you, Miss Manning!"

I love this job.