There seems to be a rash of misspellers on my blog of late. My mom and dad, because my father’s father came from Scotland (one “t” kind of land), saddled me with a one “t” kind of first name and I have lived my whole life getting folks to spell that name correctly. (To those who know Hebrew, I often say there’s no dagesh.)
Here’s an odd question for those of us who have names that are routinely misspelt: What’s your best story about your name’s spelling or misspelling? Here’s mine:
As a kindergartner, my teacher wrote everyone’s name on the chalkboard. Then she went through the room, seeing if we could spell our names, asking each of us to go to the board and erase our name from the board if we saw it. Well, I sat there refusing to erase a name that looked so much like my name that I was tempted to humor her and just give in. But, no, not this proud “Scot.” Finally, I explained to her that my name was not on the board, that she had misspelled my name and that, if she would kindly erase that second “t”, I’d be glad to erase my name.
I think that day she also wanted to teach us how to “bounce” a ball. When I got the ball I began to dribble all around the room, weaving between the desks like Curly Neal, and she got all flustered and bothered by my hubris. Within the week my parents pulled me from kindergarten and let me stay home another year.
Kindergarten dropout, as in “beauty school dropout.”
So there folks. Spell this Scot’s name with one “t” and you’ll keep him from saying silly things to you in private e-mails or on this blog!