All In a Name...

The summer after I finished fifth grade, my family moved from Flushing, Queens to the suburbs of Houston. For the past three years, I had attended P.S. 20 just two blocks from our high-rise apartment building. We played in the asphalt-covered playground at P.S. 20 and sometimes hit tennis balls against the handball court wall. By this age, I had done enough research to know that this was not the childhood I was meant to have.    

One or two Judy Blume books would have been enough to teach anyone about the proper American childhood. I had read them all. For starters, we were supposed to live in a house. Our own house. Not in some apartment building where the downstairs neighbor banged on his ceiling the minute you ran from the bedroom to the kitchen. And this house, our house, was supposed to be in the suburbs. And everyone was supposed to have a lawn. With sprinklers. And the house was supposed to come with at least one pet, preferably a quadruped. 

When my parents announced that we were moving to Houston, I knew this was it. To set it all right. To start the childhood I was supposed to have. I pictured the houses with pools, the school buses, the sprinklers, the lawns, the whole schbang. I imagined myself riding my bicycle down the tree-lined blocks, waving at neighbors and friends across the street.

And there was one other thing. To go with my new life, I decided that I needed a new name. One that fit my new life, my new beginning. No one would butcher my new name trying to pronounce it. And no one in Houston would call me “Shin,” as my teachers always did. I remember coming home and crying to my mom that I’m not a shoe (a homonym for shin in Korean).

I thought about it incessantly. What name would go with my last name? Would it roll off the tongue easily? Would it present me as I was meant to be presented? As I walked around, I sounded out different names to myself. Catherine Oh? Connie Oh? Michelle Oh? I told myself that it didn’t matter that I already knew a Connie. We were moving and she would never find out that I stole her name.

After much deliberation, I decided to go with Christine. It had just enough syllables to balance out the exclamatory Oh. And while I knew a couple of Christina’s, I knew no Christine. I was relieved that I would not have to defend taking another’s name to my sister and brother. 

When I announced it over dinner to my mom and dad, they were startled. 

“Shinyung is a perfectly good name. Why would you change it? Don’t you like it?”

I still remember the hurt look on my mother’s face. But it didn’t prevent me from changing my name. 

During my third year of college, I took a class called American Lives. In the class, we read biographies and autobiographies of famous Americans. While reading Harriet Wilson’s “Our Nig,” we discussed the significance of naming in American culture. What it meant, as Americans, to be able to name ourselves, to take ownership of our identities.  

In the course of that class, I started thinking about my own name. Why I had, as a 12-year-old child, shed my Korean name and picked an American one out of the blue. Suddenly, I started feeling like a phony.  Even though I had named myself, I felt like it had been for the wrong reasons, as if I had given up a part of myself. Instead of making others pronounce my name correctly, I had sought an escape. 

I reverted to my Korean name then. As I had done to my parents almost eleven years earlier, I forced my friends to adjust to what was to them my new name. 

Now that I am expecting our baby, with the due date just three months away, I’m wondering about this naming business all over again. What kind of name should he have? Should he have a Korean name and an American name to reflect his mixed heritage? Would he be embarrassed of his Korean name as I was as a child? Could I find a name that fits in America as well as in Korea? 

I raised this topic with my mom on the phone the other day. We’re thinking of giving the baby a Korean middle name, I told her.

“What do you need a Korean name for?” she said. “We live in America now. Keep it simple. Just give him a name that’s easy to pronounce, that sounds good. Why not name him Jeff Jr.?” 

It wasn’t the reaction I had expected. I thought she would be proud that I wanted to retain some connection to Korea for our baby. But maybe it was just sentimental jibberish to her.

But for me, the thought of handing my baby over completely to America, the culture in which I had to learn to make my home as a child, feels like cheating in some ways. Learning to live here, while treading the disparity between our origin in Korea and our present lives, has defined me in more ways than I can articulate. Many of the strands of life that have shaped me – and still remain flapping in various directions – stem from this disparity. Finding ways to interpret and accept our family’s differences. Negotiating my need to fit in with my peers with my parents’ values. Accepting that our family was here alone, with no extended relatives to help us in times of need. Appreciating the loneliness that seemed to hover over us at times. 

I find these aspects of my life – my identity – hard to leave behind. I want to give them due credit, instead of moving on as if they never existed. And I want them to be acknowledged and remembered somehow. To account for our history – and our family’s struggles.

So I find myself walking around, sounding out names in my head, as I did as a 12-year-old child. Trying to come up with the right sounds, the right syllables, the right identity. And hoping that this time, it is for keeps.   

-Shinyung

Comments

[Asianmommy]

My kids have English first names, my maiden name as their middle name, and my husband's last name as their last name. It works for us, reflecting a part of him, a part of me, and a part of their American upbringing.

[Julie Kang]

I, too, faced some resistance from my parents when I brought the exact same idea up with them for the first time. Turns out my dad had to ask his older brother (the oldest son of the family) for permission to name my son according to the genealogical pattern, even though the baby would be born to a daughter and the father wasn't Korean. Luckily, my kunappa agreed, so Isaac Yujin it was (my name is also English first, Korean middle). Since my second child was the first girl of her generation we got to choose the root ourselves, and we came up with Yumi so the two kids are connected.

Both kids have their father's American last name. I figured it was a fair trade-off, even though I kept my Korean last name.

[Xibee]

My husband was given the same kind of pause just recently. His American name was bestowed upon him arbitrarily by a nun when he attended a Catholic gradeschool in Korea. Most of his Korean friends used his Korean name, but he started using the American one on arrival in the States.

When he became an American citizen, the chance was offered up again: You can change your name if you wish. Do you want to? And to what? It didn't have to be the nun's appointed name anymore. But what was wrong with his Korean name? He asked me: Should I change my name?

What finally decided his question was the one-part problem which arose all the time on documents: American databases have no way to describe Korean names properly, which is a problem for Koreans. Korean names are not hyphenated like Chinese two-part first names. They are spaced separately, but used in tandem. Unfortunately no databases in the U.S. seem to be able to handle having a two-part name WITHOUT the hyphen. We'd receive mail for "Ji" instead of his whole name. It rankled him.

I mentioned the hyphen to him once: "I'm NOT CHINESE!" he roared. And running the two words of his particular name together made white folks' eyes seem to cross. "Ummmm.... how's that?"

So ultimately he chose to make it an English name (the nun's name, slightly changed), followed by his whole Korean name, two parts run together. At least we wouldn't get wacked looking mail and people calling him Ji. And I think, for him, he liked shedding just a little Koreanness in becoming a new citizen. Holding on to each, but with a new view.

[hapa mama too]

have you looked into bicultural names that are average/common names in both cultures? That is what we did for both of our kids. The only difference in pronunciation in both languages is that DS's first name is pronounced slightly different because of the way the "o" is pronounced in the name by different sets of grandparents. That worked for us. Kids respond to both names and i think they kind of like having both if a smile indicates this when either name is used. DS's middle name is definitely of European decent since it is my dad and grandfather's first name. DD's middle name is her Korean given name chosen by her birth mom. So in some ways, there names show their history and honor both sides of the family and DD's birth mom.

[eingy]

Xibee, I'm Korean American and my name is spelled Ei-Nyung. I had no idea anyone had an association with using a hyphen and Chinese names. I in fact put in the hyphen myself because I was sick of people thinking Ei was my first name and Nyung was my middle name. I have several Korean American friends who use a hyphen in their names: Young-Hye, Rye-Jin, etc. I am totally befuddled by your husband's reaction to hyphenating... I had never heard that before. Maybe that wasn't a common association where I grew up (NY and Philly) but was where your husband did?

[ohm_ma]

My mother hyphenates her name, my father doesn't (and in fact, on documents, lists the first syllable as a first name and the second syllable as his middle name, and also sometimes just signs things as "Chul"). For myself and my brother, our Korean names are run together.

My parents originally put our names on our birth certificates with Korean name first and "American" name as the middle name. My brother legally changed his name to reverse it (while we were in high school, with my parents' blessing). I modified my Korean name to make it more "American", since the way my parents spelled it, no one could pronounce it. And it was difficult for non-Korean-speakers to pronounce (I still don't understand why). Ironically, even though there are famous people who share my name, people still can't spell it and some people have a hard time pronouncing it.

Before I changed the spelling of my name, I went by my middle name. Now, when I tell people what that is and that I used to go by it, I get a lot of people saying "but that doesn't seem like it fits you".

We gave our daughter a French first name, a Hindi first middle name, a Korean second middle name, and a double-barreled last name. The order was just because we liked the sound of it together the best. French because we met in Paris, Hindi because I loved the name, and Korean because I really want her to have that. My last name is the second part of her last name, and my husband agrees that in casual use, she can just have the last name "Kim".

Do what feels right to you. If you want your son to have a Korean name, do it. If you're only doing it because you feel like you have to, well, think on it and determine why. He'll eventually choose what he likes, which name he identifies with.

[Sunny]

Do you like any of the names that can be managed in both English and Korean? RuBin, Philbin, Jason, Eugene (Yoo-Jin..it might be a girl name in Korean though)come to mind.

[HCG]

Hannah, Aram, Gina, Mina...those can be both Korean and English names.

Do both names. If only to give your son the the choice and tools to define himself.

My husband's parents did not give him a Chinese name and he never got the straight answer on "what" his mom was when he was younger. And he's never felt 'Chinese' despite their attempts to brainwashing, because my husband is not just bicultural but multicultural. After the process we went through to procure our son's name (the Korean version of my husband's last name run through a namemaker), he felt emboldened enough to contemplate a Chinese name for himself.

[suzy nam]

Shinyun, this was a great post. Thanks for articulating so gracefully something that we all deal with. :-) My favorite line:

Appreciating the loneliness that seemed to hover over us at times.

The great news is that our children will have so much more of the coolness and strength that comes from being different and so much less of the embarrassment and awkwardness.

[Nina]

Lovely post, Shinyung.

We gave our kids "American" first names and Korean middle names. Since neither of us are fluent Korean speakers, Korean names don't have as much personal meaning to us as the American names we picked. We loved the way they sounded, their meanings and history. But their Korean names were chosen by their paternal grandparents, in keeping with their family's naming tradition and I love how those names tie them to that history and to the culture of both our families.

As an aside, I don't think that Koreans exclusively use a space between the syllables of their first name. Most of my friends, my boys' middle names, even my mother's Korean name are spelled as one word, no hyphen, no space (i.e. Jihyun). I know Koreans that have a hyphen in their name and others that do spell it with a space, which does in fact make them usually become known by only the first syllable. Which would be annoying, I think.

[Linda Yoon]

Nice and poignant post...it made me think of my own "naming" experience:

I was born in Seoul, and my parents named me Sohee. When my mom was enrolling me in school here in the United States, she asked me, "What do you want your American name to be? Lisa or Laurie?" I responded, "Linda! Linda!" I was a huge fan of Wonder Woman at the time, and Lynda Carter was my idol (I was about 4 years old). Turns out that neither me or my mom knew that she spelled her name with a "y"!

Well, now I am a new mom to a 50% Korean (my half!), 25% Chinese, and 25% Caucasian baby boy. I wanted him to have a Korean middle name since he was taking my husband's German-ish last name. I asked my father for a Korean boy name, so he chose Dae-han. My husband was responsible for our son's first name, but he came up blank so he decided to make Dae-han the first name. Well, our son's first week proved what a lifetime of grief it would bring if we kept that as his first name. As soon as we told people our baby's name, it was "How do you spell that?" "Is it a boy or a girl?" One woman put an apostrophe where the hyphen was supposed to be. The pediatrician asked, "How do you say his name? Die Hand?" After that, I came home and begged my husband to give our son an American first name (my parents already insisted that Dae-han be the middle name). He finally decided on Alek, which is the name of the town in Africa where we worked together. Even though we still have to spell it out for people, it's much easier than Dae-han! Plus, we like that it has special meaning to us. :)

[Mary]

@Linda, what a great story! i love the name Alek too..

[twizzle]

I, a hapa Korean, was given a totally Anglo name at birth. In high school, I decided to shed my original middle name, which I didn't much like anyway, and replace it with my mom's Korean maiden name. I loved having a Korean middle name and felt as though I had finally become connected to my Korean roots in some way. Then, when I got married, I took my husband's last name, shed the Korean name, and replaced it with my own WASP-y maiden name. I regret having done this, and often think about submitting the official paperwork to have my Korean name put back. But then I must ask the question: Do I want to drop my father's name, or my husband's? Or, should I just have four names? It gets rather messy on forms.

Thanks for a beautifully written and thought provoking post.

[Jennifer]

We went through the name thing with our biracial son 9 months ago. I thought my parents would be happy that we wanted to have a Korean name...as the middle name. But my mother asked me to put my maiden name because my dad would be the last one to carry on the family name. I thought DH would have had difficulties with a hyphenated last name. (and being a teacher, those names are so cumbersome in school!)

You know, because I have relatives who either live in Korea or have difficulty speaking English, we had to abandon several first names we LOVED because they wouldn't be able to pronounce it properly. In hindsight, I don't know if that was wrong or not.

[bindc]

Love the post.

I had a different experience. When I was in 2nd grade, my parents asked me if I wanted to take on an American name. My younger brother and sister were given American names because they were born in the US while my older sister and I had Korean names b/c we were born in Korea.

I mulled it over and decided that I wanted to be Daisy (I was really into the Dukes of Hazard at the time, ha!!). I tried it out for a few weeks but neither my friends, my family, nor I could deal with it. It was too arbitrary and fake. In retrospect, I'm glad it didn't stick.

My kids both have American names but for nostalgia and tradition, we gave them full Korean names. It works for us.

[JT]

what a wonderful post. I'm half Korean, raised in America and I've always been so sad that I don't have a Korean name. I tried different ones out but my mother wasn't very willing to help. And being in the time before finding names was as easy as googling "Korean names" I eventually gave up. I resigned myself to joking with my mother that my new Korean name was Konjoo. 15 years later my husband occassionally calls me by my "Korean name". When I had my daughter I decided that I wanted to give her a Korean name. My mother was reluctant to help at first but had a sudden change of heart. We bounced different names around like Sarang. I had mentioned naming the baby after my mother's mother who died years ago, but my mom didn't like that at all. When I gave birth my mom was there with my husband and I. He turned to her and asked her if she would like to give our daughter her Korean name. She was choked up with emotion and decided to give her the name EunAe and said she was God's Grace. She tried to make the nickname "Grace" stick but why have a Korean middle name only to use the American meaning? And I'm glad it didn't. My 3 y/o daughter has 2 BFF's, one is named Grace and the other is Gracie. We since had a son who is 9 mos and I'm still hung up over his Korean name. Obviously, it won't be on his birth certificate. My mother again seemed reluctant to help pick something out. And I haven't had anything really jump out at me. Although I love Taewon. If we end up having another child I think I will give them Korean names as first names. I like JaeSon and JiEun. Why not just use JaeSon for my boy? Because we're a family of all J names and I have to save the good ones should we have anymore kids. haha

[Betty]

My mom had the same reaction when I said we'd like for her and dad to come up with a korean middle name..."why would you do something like that? we live in america now." dumfounded, it took me awhile to process it and then later convinced her and my dad to come up with a korean name. it helps to reflect both sides of our baby's heritage...and we think Heidi Yera sounds pretty cute too.

[Alexis]

This is such a good post. I hope you don't mind if I link it in my own blog? It rings so true. As a child (I'm a Korean adoptee, BTW^^), I always wondered about my name. I knew I had a Korean name, but I was glad my parents had given me a western name, so I could blend in with people around me. However, now that I'm older, I can't help but think that my name being changed, changed me and my identity...

My parents gave me "Lee" (my Korean surname) as my middle name. And I'm now actually very glad they did...

[Elisa Camahort Page]

Hi Shinyung. We loved this post so much we named it "BlogHer of the Week"
http://www.blogher.com/blogher-week-shinyung-kimchi-mamas

We'll be staying tuned to see what name you decide on!

Elisa Camahort Page, BlogHer