(This is part one in the “What’s in a Name” series)
Welcome to Between and Becoming.
This is the digital home of me: Kevin Dykstra, Mdiv, MA, LLPC. Yes, that’s a lot of letters at the end of a name — also very expensive letters (RIP).
Recently, I partook in an exercise called The Whole Name Exercise. Meant as a self-of-therapist activity, The Whole Name Exercise asks therapists to consider their own name:
Who chose your name? Why? What is the significance of your name? Are you named after anyone? Consider your whole name — not just your first name. Do you know the origin of your last name? What about your middle name? How do you feel about your name? How has your name served you, especially professionally? Has your name ever gotten in the way? What assumptions might people make about you, given your name?
It is a remarkable experience to ask yourself some of these questions about your name. After all, most of us have a sense that we just are: E.g. I just am Kevin Dykstra.
So we ask: What’s in a name?
Evidently, there is much in a name.
Power. Prestige. Shame. Stigma. Commonality. Uniqueness. Pressure. Add to the list what you’d like.
I was, for example, reminded of the shock I experienced learning about Kevinismus or Kevinism: a rather striking, odd phenomenon found in particular places like Germany.
I first learned of this during a semester abroad in Germany, studying at Philipps-Universität Marburg, as my German language instructor smiled, let out a small chuckle, and asked if I had heard about Kevinismus.
She explained to me that here in Germany there was a real construct which they called Kevinismus in which studies had revealed a real bias against Germans carrying the name Kevin — among other American-style names.
Sounds ridiculous, does it not?
In the United States, while a name like Kevin has declined somewhat in popularity, it has also consistently remained one of the most popular boy names since at least the mid-twentieth century according to SSA statistics. In 1963, the name reached its most popular point (since 1900), ranking 11th among all names given to U.S. male births. Between 1963 and 2000, the name has ranked no less than 34th on this same list, making Kevin a continually popular and common name among United States males — since 2000, the name has dropped off to around 221st place among male births.
My experience as Kevin has been that of relative commonality: to be Kevin is to be standard, basic, white, American male.
In Germany, however, I had learned that this is not the case. To be Kevin in German society is often to live with Kevinismus: a kind of disease in which, due to the popularity of American-style names with low socio-economic families, had caused people to view you through a quite harsh and negative lens. To be Kevin might mean you are unintelligent and your teacher might even subconsciously grade your school paper in such a way, for example.
And, lest you think I am overstating this, Kevinism is apparently worthy enough of its own Wikipedia page entry.
Of course we all know that to have trendy, popular, American names like Kevin must be indicative of such in-born traits, right?
Please read the sarcasm.
To me, to be Kevin meant normalcy. In Germany, I found a new meaning — and certainly a meaning I did not expect.
And, if you are wondering, women/girls are apparently not excluded from this phenomenon either: According to the Wikipedia entry on Kevinismus, the female equivalent is sometimes known as Chantalismus: named after the female name Chantal.
So, What’s in a name?
My last name, Dykstra, has often been something I have thought about. I was a teenager when I realized that my last name was, as I understand, an anglicized version of Dijkstra — a Dutch or Frisian surname made up of two words: dike (dijk) and dweller/inhabitant (-stra). Combined, the name indicates a person living near the ever-important dikes of the Netherlands.
In central Wisconsin most people would not be able to pronounce Dykstra, would express fears about saying it even when their intuition was correct, and certainly would need help spelling it.
I got used to stating my name and following it up with “D-Y-K.”
This had become an ingrained habit. Intuitive. Natural. A part of the language I spoke.
When I moved to west Michigan to settle down with my family and be closer to my wife’s family, I was shocked when a business receptionist simply began typing on her computer keyboard when I provided my first and last name: no spelling necessary.
This was, I discovered, a land of the Dutch in west Michigan. No further explanation was often needed. To have a Dutch last name was normal, even culturally pervasive.
There was a Dykstra Auto just a few miles from our house.
When I gave people my last name they asked “which high school did you attend” and “are you related to X Dykstra family?”
And, I discovered, many of the people in the area traced their lineage to the Netherlands. For example, large numbers of Dutch settlers moved to Holland, MI, in the 1840’s seeking relief from religious persecution.
Holland is also well known for its Dutch roots, including possessing its own authentic Dutch windmill, a Dutch village, and the world-famous Tulip Time which celebrates the community’s Dutch heritage — including large displays of tulip gardens, traditional Dutch dancing and dress, and of course the world-famous Dutch wooden clogs.
Holland is also home to Hope College: a flagship college of the Reformed Church in America (RCA), a historical Dutch Reformed church body which is also headquartered in west Michigan (Grand Rapids, MI). Another historically Dutch church body, the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRC) likewise is headquartered in west Michigan (Grand Rapids, MI) and several CRC institutions call west Michigan home, including Calvin University (Grand Rapids, MI) and Kuyper College (Grand Rapids, MI).
To be in west Michigan — whether in Holland or Grand Rapids — is often to have the Dutch part assumed. Wild, right?
This is the case: from assuming that you must have grown up here with a last name like Dykstra, to assuming you may be connected with the dozen of historically dutch institutions like churches, to the automatic nature of the clerk typing in your last name without the puzzled look.
Another shock to the system: living in a world in which a name like Dykstra — and other Dutch names — could be so ubiquitous that I might even feel a little weird uttering “D-Y-K.”
Weird.
What’s in a name? This is a very round-about way, I admit, to talk about names.
I do, yes, intend on speaking to the power, politics, and cultural implications of one’s given name — as I have done so far. We rarely think about our names and it can reveal rather interesting phenomena worth considering.
Yet, there is another obvious reason to discuss names:
Between and Becoming.
This is a brand new, hot-off-the-press project.
It is new to you, the reader, while also being new to me as well.
And, like any new project which needs — and deserves — a name, I have agonized over the name to give this project. Not too unlike selecting the name of a newborn child, I have agonized over the signs to use.
Such a name, I concluded during my early exploration and brainstorming, had to match and describe the function which it was meant to serve. The website domain name and social media handles also had to be available too.
Fun stuff, right? Sometimes it is also the practical things that matter most.
The name of a thing matters, though. Like Adam in the Garden of Eden bestowing names to living creatures, I have likewise given name to Between and Becoming. With this naming, I hope, comes form and shape to what is already emerging. And, for the sake of the reader, it is my intention to answer the question: What’s in a name?
The following articles are meant to more fully explore this topic. Read the next part here or browse other pieces in the series below:
