Strong, silent type.

Magdelena.

Mary Magdelene.

Macdala.

Migdula.

McDonald’s.

McMuffin.

Mary.

These are a handful of things I’ve been called by people who don’t bother to learn how to pronounce my first name. I always felt ashamed of my name; it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Mig-DAH-li-ah, with a soft “g”. It rolls off my tongue but that’s because I say it several times a day to the patients I work with. I still need to correct the pronunciation with doctors who have worked with me for years. 

My peers in elementary school bullied me because of my name. Kids would approach me and ask to order a McMuffin or would just call me McDonald’s. I’m laughing as I’m typing this but at the time, I was devastated. I begged my parents to change my name. Any trendy white name, like Tiffany, Ashley or Jessica. It wouldn’t be my only request to erase evidence of my ethnic background.

When I was in 7th grade I had an English teacher who made racist comments. We had a bilingual program for students who spoke primarily Spanish. When some of the boys were in the hall were being rowdy, my teacher announced that they needed to be “shipped back”.

I hated her. She was old then, so hopefully life saw it fit to stop her from being a c*** to anyone else. I don’t wish death on people...I just wish peace for the rest of us.

The first day of school was always the worst. I listened to the teacher read names off the list in alphabetical order and could always tell when mine was next. There would be a pause as the teacher’s eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. This would lead to some variation of, “Okay, I’m going to kill your first AND last name.” Neither one was easy. I’d always volunteer the pronunciation. I was confident they were referring to me and can’t remember ever being wrong.

In the beginning of the school year, this teacher called me Mary Magdalene. I’d catch her laughing after she said it; I can only assume she was thinking of Mary Magdalene from the Bible. She must have thought she was so damn clever. Her smug face...I hated it. I was meek and never said anything to my parents or anyone else of authority.

Instead, I ignored her. If she called on Mary or Mary Magdalene to read a paragraph in our English book she would be met with silence. She’d repeat herself until she was yelling and red in the face. I’d make eye contact with her and insist, “That’s not my name.” On one occasion she admitted that she couldn’t be bothered to pronounce a name like mine and would continue to call me Mary. I shrugged and said, “I don’t answer to Mary.”

I was a quiet student but a stubborn kid. I was tired of fighting off assholes who couldn’t (or wouldn’t respect me enough to try) pronounce my name.

Towards the end of the year, this bitter old bitch lost her patience with Mary Magdalene. She called for Mary, did not get a response, and announced that she would get the guidance counselor to “straighten me out”. We sat in shocked silence; I was the student who never got in trouble. A couple Puerto Rican students in the class nodded their respect at me because they were frustrated with her racist comments as well.

The teacher returned and continued with her lesson as if she never left. I glanced at my friends sitting next to me and shrugged. She never called on me again and I was never approached by a guidance counselor.

Listen. I’m happy to respond to a nickname. But when you refuse to acknowledge me and my culture due to laziness (and possible racist undertones) then you can fuck yourself with a rusty dildo. All day.