I’ve discussed with many of you the admonition that my father often gave me to “Remember what your name is” but there is another side to that idea.
While in my teenage years I was encouraged to be cautious about how I represented my family name. However, in young adulthood that changed. Instead of “Remember what your name is” the phrase became “Tell ‘em what your name is.”
I’d forgotten about this until recently. Not long ago, my oldest son, Henry, and I took a trip together. We visited South Carolina to attend a conference and saved money by sharing a hotel room.
I arrived before Henry did and retired to the room to prepare for the evening’s events. I expected that when Henry arrived, he’d call to ask for the room number or ask that I come to the lobby to meet him and show him the way. Instead, as I was flipping between ESPN and CNN, I heard the digital lock release and the door open.
Startled, I looked over and said, “Hey, how’d you get up here?” Henry responded casually, “I just went to the desk and asked for a key.” At first, I didn’t understand but then it dawned on me – he told them what his name is!
My most vivid recollection of my father telling me to “Just tell ‘em what your name is” was when we’d make the weekly stop at the dry cleaners to pick up the pressed suits and starched shirts that he’d had restored to put back in the wardrobe rotation. Daddy would either send me alone or he’d wait in the car while sending me into the store to pick up his clothes. He’d say, “Just tell ‘em what your name is” or “Tell ‘em who you are, and they’ll give you what you came for.”
That made me proud! Proud that I could use my daddy’s name to get what I needed. Proud that my name had some influence. And proud that Daddy trusted me to use it.
It worked too. I’d walk into that cleaners and, with a smile and a short conversation, the owners would go to the back and get the armfuls of Daddy’s clothing. They seemed to admire him. And they wanted to know a little about me too. His name, and mine, was the entry way to a relationship. My name meant something because his name was good. They trusted me because they trusted him – to be a good customer and to follow in his footsteps and do something of value with the name we shared.
There were many other places where this applied as well. It seemed that my dad knew someone that could help me with just about anything that I needed to get done. The car dealer, the jeweler, college professors or presidents, congressmen, civil rights leaders, the mayor, a financial advisor, a lawyer, ministers in a city where I was traveling, a manager at a government agency or corporation where I was interested in a job, a reporter, or a realtor. All of these are instances where, if I mentioned to my dad that I was trying to get something done, he’d suggest someone for me to call and then he’d add “Just tell ‘em who you are, and they’ll help you” or “Tell ‘em what your name is, and they’ll make sure you get what you need.”
Without him saying so directly, upon reflection I imagine that Daddy was observing that I was doing the work to live up to my name. He was pleased and wanted to share that with others. He wanted his peers to know that he had a son that was deserving of their assistance.
I think he also wanted me to create a pride and build a brand around my own interpretation of my name. The work that I was doing and the way that I was approaching life was different than the way that he had, but he still said “Tell ‘em what your name is.”
I’m not sure that I understood all of that at the time. I just knew that the use of my name had turned from something to be cautious with into something to use with confidence.
Daddys encouragement was empowering – strengthening. My voice was surer; I stood up a little straighter; my request was more direct. With my daddy’s support, my name was enough. With the legacy of a proud and honorable people behind me, I was enough.
As Henry IV found an out of the way place to store his bags and found the ironing board to put a fresh press on a shirt or two, I could barely suppress a smile as I turned my attention back to the remote control. Clearly, Henry is a confident young man. His professional world is expanding – changing jobs and negotiating salary increases, he’s learning that adulting means navigating leases and managing a household budget, making his own travel arrangements, participating in professional conferences, and finding his way to a place where he can lay his head in a foreign city.
Harrison, our youngest son, is maturing more than he realizes as well. He’s graduated from undergraduate school, released two albums of experimental classical music, and is preparing for graduate school. He’s excited to be learning the skills that he needs to pursue his gifts in music, he’s composing jazz, trap, and meditation music for various applications, had the benefit of internships to help him explore his interests and expand his skills, and gets periodic calls about freelance opportunities.
Crystal and I are proud of both of our sons. It’s a joy to talk with them about their passions and challenges, to answer their questions, and to offer words of support. As a father, it is my greatest point of pride to be able to help them along the way – that they want my input occasionally, and that occasionally I have the expertise or a relationship that can help them take one more step towards their ambitions.
Even more so, every now and then I have the privilege or telling Henry and Harrison, “Just tell ‘em what your name is.”