Neesa, Nice-uh, Lisa, Missa, Lissa. . .
Wallington, Wallinger, Walling, Walenda. . .
These are just a few of the names I've been called in the past 25 years (and these are the nice ones!). Since adolescence, I've begun to ponder how having a unique, apparently unpronounceable name has influenced me as a person. When I really started thinking about it, my name has shaped me more than I think most people would guess.
First if all, whatever the pros or cons of my name have been, I can't fault my parents at all for trying to make me an individual. My last name is, of course, practically unavoidable, but they chose the name Nissa for a reason. They didn't want me to be another Tom, Dick or Harry, and they wanted my name to be ethnic and reflect who I would become as a person.
Nissa is a name that has a variety of rich, delightful meanings in several different cultures. It's not some boring one-syllable name or grunt with a hard vowel. Nissa is poetic. It's phonetic. I would rather be Nissa than Jessica or Sarah. When someone yells, "Hey Nissa!" I know they're talking to me. Nissa can't be shortened, though people try all the time. Don't call me Niss, or at least don't call me that if you want me to respond.
Which brings me, I guess, to the cons. People want to shorten my name constantly. They want it to by a typical name with multiple variations. They want to pigeonhole it and Americanize it. (Whatever that means.) When I was growing up, I didn't have a way to set myself apart, all on my own. I couldn't go from Jennifer to Jen, or Jenn, or Jenni, or Jenny.
Something I've noticed more and more as I've gotten older has been the increased incidence of the question: "Oh, where are you from?"or "What race are you?" after I introduce myself. I liken it to when people ask, "So what are you?" to multi-racial citizens. Fuck you, I want say. I'm an American. Who says someone with my name can't just claim to be an American? Beyond wanting to yell just that at them, I know my name somewhat determines their perception of me. While there are many people who just tell me they think it's a pretty name, I can see in the eyes of other people that they are using my name as a clue by which to judge me. There have been plenty of sociological studies citing this effect in others who have atypical names.
I'm aware I come across, a lot of times, as rude upon introduction. "Hi, I'm Nissa," I say, "I'm Nissa Wallinga." I prepare for the same old dialogue.
They look puzzled. "Lisa?"
"Nissa."
"Lissa?"
I always have to be on my best behavior, or I roll my eyes.
What's worse is when someone is reading my name off a paper somewhere, or calling me when my coffee's done.
"Decaf for Neesa!"
"Yeah."
"Did I say that right?"
"No, goddamn it. It's phonetic. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to read?"
My 9-year-old special ed students, on the other hand, could read it perfectly off my staff badge the first time. They know phonics. All I'm saying is, take a lot of time to think before naming your kid something weird.
I can't see ever changing my name, though I've definitely thought about it. I probably think about dropping Wallinga more often (hence this url). At this point in time, getting rid of Wallinga is just about the best reason I can see to get married. In fact, my own family can't decide whether it's pronounced "Wall-IN-ga" or "WALL-in-ga." But that's a whole other story.
