May You Have An Interesting Name

A few months ago I noticed the “Verify now” button next to my name on my LinkedIn profile. LinkedIn says it’s important because “verified information helps provide authenticity signals to others that you are who you say you are…It helps build credibility and trust.” In this era of disinformation and AI deep fakes, “authenticity” sounds nice, as does “credibility” and “trust.” Yes sir, sign me up for all of that. So, I started the verification process and failed immediately.

My name has been a problem my entire life. Literally since the day I was born. My birth announcement was a cartoon drawing of a stork dropping a baby through a diaphragm with the caption, “Introducing our first contraceptive failure.” Funny thing is that being named a failure right out of the shoot didn’t bother me as much as what was written on the inside of the card: my full legal name. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that names — all names — really matter.

It all began with choosing my middle name. My father was partial to Brian and my mother to Henri, after my grandfather. Since they were both lawyers, they made a federal case out of it with no settlement by the day of my birth. Hours after I’d arrived, they were still submitting briefs and making oral arguments, so the exasperated nurse said, “why don’t you just use both?” And so I was named Alexander Henri Brian Mok. With a choice of three perfectly good names, my parents then decided not to use any of them and just call me H.B. They thought it was funny.

Growing up, name-calling on the playground was a decidedly different experience for me. Kids delighted in making up all kinds of names for what H.B. stood for. I quickly learned to laugh it off, then feign amazement as if I had never heard “Harry Beaver” or “Home Boy” or “Huge Balls” before. “Howard Butt, did you say? That’s hilarious. You should be a comedian.” For some reason, “Herbert Bartholomew” has come up a surprising number of times, and I’ve never understood why. Calling myself “Handsome and Beautiful” usually backfired with girls. My teachers, upon seeing Alexander Mok when calling roll for the first time usually thought I was being a smart ass when I corrected them with two completely different initials. And the late great comedian Phyllis Diller, after hearing my name when I appeared on Hollywood Squares, asked “H.B.? What’s wrong, couldn’t your parents afford a full name?” One time someone even asked me to spell it.

When I was in my early 20’s and heading off to graduate school, I took the opportunity to change my name back to what it was supposed to be, Alexander. I didn’t even consider if I liked Alexander to begin with (turns out I don’t, but beggars can’t be choosers). It didn’t last long. I was so used to being called H.B. that I wasn’t even responding to my own real name when someone said it. And when you’re a dude from California trying to make a name for yourself at an east coast business school, not responding to your own name was not a good look. My girlfriend (now wife) finally sat me down and set me straight, “honey, they all think you’re stoned.” So I told everyone that, yes my name is Alexander, but I go by H.B. They didn’t buy it.

My wife and friends call me H (apparently H.B. is too much of a mouthful), which is kind of sweet until we meet someone for the first time and my wife starts telling a story about the time H did this and H did that. You can see it on their faces: did we hear her right, did she just say “Hache?” What’s an Hache? Inevitably I feel bad and reveal that my wife often just refers to me as H and an uncomfortable pause follows as they try to work that one out.

The importance of names spans species and human history. We now know that whales and elephants call each other by name and even Shakespeare asked us to consider what’s in a name. Pretty insightful, considering his name was an easy William. I tend to wonder, what if I was named Maverick or Blaze? Naming something makes it real. I could be a Blaze. But, I’m not. I’m an H.B., not an Alexander or an Alex or an Al.

I’ve had a lifetime to think about the power of a name — whether it’s your own name or the names we give each other or the things we name. Naming is a formidable tool that shapes our understanding of the world. It can empower, clarify, and connect, but it can also obscure, manipulate, and control. We name our hurricanes, the stars, the little critter in the backyard. Everything has a name. What do you think of when you hear the name HB? Most people think of a number 2 pencil.

Maybe LinkedIn is right after all, and if I can’t prove that H.B. is the same as my legal name, then I shouldn’t be verified. You, H.B., are not who you say you are. Maybe so. But, I do have this to offer: The next time you name someone or something, especially in a heated moment, think about that baby falling through a diaphragm and carefully consider what you’re saying. And please, I’m begging you, don’t name your kid one thing and then call them something else. That’s just cruel.