My Name Is My Name, So Put Some ‘Spect On It

Recently I had the privilege of meeting with a group of phenomenal educators, and we played a simple game: sharing the stories behind our names. What should have been a moment of reflection and pride quickly revealed something more troubling. 

Nearly everyone—across generations and cities—had a story about their name being butchered, dismissed, mocked, or even erased by a teacher or a principal.

Some had their names casually replaced with something "easier." 

Others had teachers insist on calling them by a nickname they never agreed to. 

Many of us were taunted by classmates, sometimes with the encouragement of educators who saw our names as strange or unworthy. We heard stories of kids being told their names were “ghetto,” as if the culture and history carried within them were something we shouldn’t be proud of.

This plays out with stunning regularity, it seems, in schools both rural and urban. It’s a shared experience of so many Black and brown people, but it’s a total non-issue for most white folks. 

As my Mama used to say, if they can learn to pronounce Krzyzewski and other names correctly, they can pronounce Sharif, Nzinga, and Mikyeil correctly too. Don’t settle for anything less. 

As is often the case with comedy, this painful reality was perfectly captured in Key & Peele’s famous “Substitute Teacher” sketch. It flips the script on our shared Black experience, to hilarious effect, as a Black teacher repeatedly mispronounces common white names—turning “Blake” into “Balakay” and “Denise” into “D-Nice.” The joke works because so many of us have experienced a teacher refusing to say our names correctly and demanding that we adapt instead. It’s as funny as it is painfully real for those of us who have lived it.

A name is more than a label. It is the first gift many of us receive, often chosen with deep cultural, familial, or even spiritual significance. It can carry the weight of an ancestor’s struggle, a parent’s dream, or a community’s pride. And yet, for many Black and brown children, the schoolhouse is where that gift is first stolen.

The impact of this is real and lasting. 

Research has shown that names influence everything from job prospects to the way people are perceived in classrooms. But the damage starts long before résumés are submitted. 

When teachers or classmates alter, ridicule, or refuse to say a child’s name correctly, they send a message: Who you are is not worth the effort. The person your family named you to be does not belong here. Your people, your community, and your history do not rate.

For some, the wounds never fully heal. 

Many people, after years of enduring this treatment, choose to legally change their names—not as an act of empowerment, but as a way to escape the pain inflicted upon them by a system that refused to embrace their identity.

This is not a small issue. It is a subtle but insidious way children can be stripped of their dignity, become otherized, have their identity castigated as less than.

Educators must recognize their responsibility in shaping a child’s self-perception–the immense signaling power it holds. 

Saying a name correctly is not just about pronunciation. It is about respect, about seeing the whole person in front of you and affirming their fullness as individuals.

Learning a child’s name and how to say it correctly is the bare minimum. Basic decency requires that we create school cultures where every child’s identity is valued, their history is honored, and their sense of self is not something they must fight to hold onto.

When we say a child’s name correctly, we do more than just speak; we express our belief in their full value as people.