Day 320

Stormy. May stay in all day. I sure would like to write something new. The POH list is not helpful as I have used most of the memories already. In almost 82 years, I must have memorable events to record. Or thoughts about life and the future. Instead of concentrating on my history, I distract with the help of the easily available stories on television. I paced and pranced yesterday and added steps. I miss walking. I want my routine back.

POH

“What’s in a name?” That is how Fr. David began his sermon on Sunday and it brought back memories of the importance of names. Names are bridges between people. Names connect us. The name on my birth certificate is Shirley Jean Simon. I went by that name through several schools beginning with Kindergarten at Mt. Rose school in Reno, and other schools there, in Missoula, Montana, and finally, in Salt Lake City, Utah. I was seven years old and can remember vividly kneeling on a kitchen chair, leaning over a pad of paper and learning to write Sharon Jeanne Simons. At first I felt awkward about the new name feeling that I was lying about who I was. There were so many secrets in my family of origin and I’m not sure why my name was changed. My father changed his name from Maurice Simon to Bruce Simons to escape the Jewish connection to his father’s family. Mother was named Ruth and started being called Betty. Father did not want them going through life as Ruth and Maurice Simon. My brother and I didn’t know about this until we were adults and were told by an uncle who still went by Simon.

As a teacher I knew the importance of being acknowledged by name. I made sure every new student had his name spoken until the class knew it and knew something about the new person. I assigned one of the responsible students to show the new person around and made him comfortable. And now as a volunteer at the senior center, I use names abundantly. The smiles from the diners when I call them by name and remember something personal about them is rewarding.