Category: Daily Prompt

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What’s in a Name?

mel_by_WillemXSM“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” -from The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2), by William Shakespeare

This famous line spoken by Juliet during her illicit rendezvous with her unsuitable paramour speaks volumes not just about her relationship but about the power we’ve given to names that perhaps shouldn’t reside there. If someone’s last name is Chan or Nguyen our minds are already searching for what we know about Chinese culture. If their first name is Tynisha or LaFawnda, we can’t help but imagine someone whose family originally derives from Africa. It’s human nature. But should it be? What really is in a name?

I remember when I first found the glorious internet. It was back in 1994 after I had graduated from high school never having access to the new technology. At college though, when I went to Temple University that fall, it seemed as if it had exploded all over the place. Suddenly, I had something called e-mail, and the college asked me what I wanted as my address. I could choose from virtually ANYTHING, so I took a day to figure out what I wanted.

romeo_juliet_name_quote_stickers-rffa76c82b5df4d69acf0cf3374e1a148_v9waf_8byvr_512It wasn’t an easy choice, either. Most people I knew were using some variation of their first name, their last name, or some combination thereof, while a few used a generic nickname with some numbers attached for good measure. Of course I wanted to be different; I wanted to have an e-mail address that stood out from all the others, so I decided to go with “roach@astro.ocis.temple.edu.”

I have absolutely no idea why I went with “roach.” I detest those bugs with every fiber of my being, but I thought it would make an impression. In fact, I used to tell a story that I was part of a punk band called the 12 Roaches, but that was patently untrue. It did explain the address, though, so I stuck with it. And when it came time to interact with others on-line I took on the persona of The “Roach,” this person who was too cool to let others know his real name.

That’s when it hit me: a name is powerful. Continue reading “What’s in a Name?”

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I Believe

I believe that love can move mountains. There’s just something about love that has always made a physical impression on me. Perhaps that’s why I get all weepy at chick flicks, or at weddings, or on a Friday night when the girl doesn’t get stood up by the guy. It’s times like those when I … Continue reading I Believe

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Newport Village

What I love about Newport: Everybody knows everybody It’s a quaint society It’s pretty as a painting in winter The West Canada Creek runs through it We greet each other when we pass What I like the least about Newport Everybody knows everybody It’s far away from civilization Dogs don’t follow the leash law If … Continue reading Newport Village

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Shout

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Strawbridge & Clothier, circa 1984.

“Shout. Shout. Let it all out. These are the things I can do without. Come on. I’m talking to you. Come on.” -Tears For Fears

It was a dog’s age ago, and I was knee high to a duck (long before I started using cliches). I’ll never forget the day. My mom had dragged me to Strawbridge & Clothier’s downtown. I have no idea where my sister was, but it was the day I got lost (twice). We took the subway to 13th and Market Streets where there were a million interchanges. I was supposed to hold onto my mother’s hand, but I thought I was old enough to walk by myself. That was the problem.

When we emerged from the El I was captivated as always by the hordes of people in the concourse, by the man on the bench selling bean pies, and by the derelicts just riding the trains back and forth to stay warm. When I stopped looking all around I realized my mother was nowhere to be seen, and I started to panic. “Mom!” I croaked, but I hadn’t used my voice all day to that point, and it came out sounding so small. Then I saw the back of her coat five steps ahead. I hustled to catch up, and grabbed her hand, relieved.

Except it wasn’t her. It was some other woman wearing a similar coat who was quite surprised when this young kid grabbed onto her hand. Seconds later my actual mother yanked me away from the strange woman, and she didn’t let go of my hand the whole rest of the way to Strawbridge’s. I got the lecture about getting abducted, but you know how it is when you’re a kid. Nothing seems to phase you, at least when you’re safely with your mother. Continue reading “Shout”

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Like Deja Vu

deja-vu“This is like deja vu all over again.” -Yogi Berra

I’ve been here before. And I’ve talked to these same people. In this same order. For this same particular length of time. In this same exact tone. Everything is scripted like a movie because we have done THIS before, all of this. I can’t quite shake this feeling, even though my mind rages against it, because my body says, “Yes! Yes! Yes! I remember even if you don’t,” as it performs the choreographed dance it has performed before.

Do you know how many times I’ve had that feeling throughout my life? Seemingly dozens of times. Each and every time I get hit with that feeling, that “deja vu all over again,” it slams me like a sledgehammer to the gut. It’s funny, too, because the memories are always vague, but I still feel like I could talk right along with the other person involved, because I always know what they’re going to say. And my own brain tells me what to say before I can even process what is being said to me. It shouldn’t be possible, but somehow it is, and that makes it even more incredible.

I remember the first time it happened, too. I was ten at the time, and I had just gotten home from school with my sister. We were latchkey kids. As I walked up the stairs to my room the feeling hit me hard, that I had gone up the stairs two at a time before, maybe many times before, with that exact same cadence. I reached the top and my sister called up to me from below. “Be careful on that last step,” she said, but I knew she would say it before it came out of her mouth. My room door was open, as I knew it would be, and it creaked as I closed it behind me. It didn’t always creak, but I knew it would that day. It did. Continue reading “Like Deja Vu”

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Crush Crush Crush

117091062_4b64ec9547“If you want to play it like a game, well, come on. Let’s play. ‘Cause I’d rather waste my life pretending than have to forget you for one whole minute.” -Paramore

She was perfect. Her skin was a smooth, dark chocolate, mocha maybe, her lips a contrasting pink. Every time I saw her my heart literally skipped a beat (seriously, check with my doctor), but to her I was always just a friend. Maybe to her I was even “little brother” material because she sure enough treated me like it, even when I went out of my way to remind her that we weren’t related, that she could and should see me in a different light.

We met at church, like a lot of people do, when we were both just out of the cradle, it seemed. Perhaps that’s where the “brother” feelings originated for her. I don’t think I’ll ever really know, if she herself even knows. I hadn’t seen her as a possible love interest then either. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was always something about her that was ethereal, transcendent even. I think I knew even when we were little kids that there was a spark there I would like to explore later. That set us apart.

It was always more than just a crush, too. Now, I’m not saying that I knew what love was way back then, but I did know that I wanted more than what friends had. I was probably around 10 when I first realized I wanted to be more than friends. I began writing about her daily in my journal, thinking about her more and more as time went by, and finding excuses to spend more time with her both in and out of church. I even joined several groups just to be near her.

But I never once told her how I felt. I think maybe I was just too shy to approach anything like that with her. Or perhaps I was just deathly afraid of rejection. Maybe I figured it was better to be a well-respected friend than to possibly mess things up if she didn’t say she felt the same. It’s always awkward after that. Continue reading “Crush Crush Crush”