Several weeks ago, I was slowly walking down a hall in Mechanical Engineering when I saw a poster on the wall titled, “Master of Science.” That’s me, I thought. It had never occurred to me in my many years after completing graduate school, that I was a Master. Not only did I have a degree, but I was a Master of something. Of course, I immediately thought of my identity as Master of Arts, and most recently I became a Master Gardener. My son thinks that “master” sounds pretentious and a little like a cult. I’m beginning to think that he may be right.
I have had many names and have claimed assorted names on forms, all of which put me into a category, in an order that made sense to me and others. My rank , role and place have made more sense when I had a proper identifying name. I gave others names too that reciprocated the identifying gesture, “Doctor, Mister, Father, Friar, Brother, Mrs, Miss, Ms, Chairman, President,” and others less flattering.
There was a time when a person was known by their craft. All of us today are named so that everyone can identify our paternal family of origin. People have been named for places.
I gave an individual name to each of my sons within the first day of their birth. It was to be a name that spoke to me of their essence, their future, and my hopes. Actually, I think that they each gave me their name as I held them, and I put it into words I not only felt but could speak. So Nathan, as he looked up at me through new eyes, expressed himself as “Nathan Bright Eyes.” And he has now become a young man who sees the world with glistening, perceptive eyes that see a special truth.
Sorin, on the day he was born, squirmed in my arms and clearly announced to me that he was “Logan Strong Heart.” And he has now become a young man who shoulders his way along difficult paths with an intensity that is both strong and brave.
There was a time I put aside my youthful identity as “Charles” and decided that I would live as “Barry”. I smiled with appreciation when Logan decided at a similar age that he will now be known as “Sorin.” For me, it would be one of a string of identity changes I would make. Sometimes it would simply be a rejection of identities others would want to give me, such as “husband, white, old.” The one name I have enthusiastically embraced is “Gardener.”
Among all the names I could choose, Gardener is both my favorite and the one that speaks best who I am. Like my sons, it is a name that has become a metaphor for my life. It is an action name that both describes not only what I do but who I am becoming.