Gregory ran

Gregory ran.  Except “ran” should’ve been capitalized, because it was his surname.  Gregory Ran.

How he hated that name.

In grade school, he’d taken so much flak for it.  Every elementary teacher seemed to think themselves exceptionally clever for illustrating verbs and nouns with his proper form of address.  Later in life, at a track and field meet, someone in Gregory’s relay team made a joke about his name just before the race.  Gregory, their fastest runner, walked away and never touched another track.  Heck, the worst experience of all occurred in an airport, where Gregory was paged over the p.a. system while waiting for a flight.  He remembered the woman’s words clearly: “Gregory Ran, please run immediately to gate A12.”  She’d sounded very smug, and he’d sued the airport.

This was worse than that, however.  That was embarrassment.  This was betrayal.

He looked at the nametag again, but of course nothing changed.  “Gregory ran.  Not “Gregory Ran.”  “Gregory ran.”  With a lowercase.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, he thought hopelessly.  Of all the places in the world, this is where I should feel safe.  These people, these strangers who share a common struggle – they’re supposed to understand.

He considered leaving right then, but something made him stay.  Perhaps the lifelong feelings of desperation and loneliness and frustration.  Gregory hovered a moment between the door and the circle of metal chairs, then warily joined the others in the circle of fragile hope.  They all bore nametags: John Hunt.  Susan Lift.  Zach Mower.  Greg winced at the embarrassing possibilities behind that one.

However, there was a common factor behind all the names: first and last were both capitalized.

In some ways, that made it better, because it wasn’t an intentional joke.  A joke in this safe haven would’ve been unbearable.  In other ways, however, the occurrence of an accidental error made this even worse, because they should’ve cared enough to get his name right.

The support group sported around a dozen attendees this evening, though it was Gregory’s first time coming.

“Welcome, welcome!” the man in the crumb-flaked suit chirped.  “In just a moment we’ll get started, but first I’d like to make a quick announcement.  Harrison Fisher has had to leave the city to take care of his ailing grandmother in Minnesota, but he asked me to thank all of you for your support, encouragement, and love throughout his months in this group.  He says, and I quote, that ‘nowhere have I ever found a group of individuals who better understood and supported me in dealing with my problem.’  I know the feeling from all of us is mutual.  Ah, now, to business.  I see we have a new friend today; would you care to introduce yourself, sir?”

“I’m Gregory, nice to meet you!” was the now-instinctive greeting developed over long years of trial and error, figuring out how best to avoid the introduction of last names.  The man in the crumb-flaked suit caught on, however.

“Ah Gregory, none of that, now!  Last name too!  We’re all friends here.”

Gregory winced.  “It’s . . . Ran.  Gregory Ran.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Ran!  Gregory, you should know that we develop a habit of members addressing one another by their full names.  This tends to help in the recovery process.”

Gregory nodded his acquiescence.

“Well, moving on, you can get to know everyone through mingling during our mid-session tea break.  Alright, ladies and gentlemen, today’s topic (and I do think it’s a good one): famous confederates!”

The metal chair squeaked as Gregory leaned back, listening intently.  First, each of the members shared a story from their own struggles with having a verb as their last name, and, although Gregory was nervous at first, the words flowed more easily as he let them spill.  Then the speaker went on to discuss famous figures who shared their malady.

“Edward Shakespeare.  Luke Skywalker.  Even the paragon of charm and manliness himself, Nicholas Cage!  All these famous figures and more have shared this same affliction that you’ve faced, and all of them triumphed, despite genealogy’s injustices.  Yes, each person was stamped with a surname handicap, but they refused to be defined by the mocking voices, the demeaning jokes plaguing their lives.  And they triumphed, ladies and gentlemen!  They overcame!  You know what it means, don’t you?  It means that you, too, can overcome, despite the injustices!”

Greg was enraptured.  All his life, he’d viewed his road as a lonely one.  Now, however, he found that he shared it with many others.

“ – and through the difficulties,” the speaker continued, “each became stronger!  Think of it: without a lifetime of being referred to as a clay worker with abnormal body hair, would the world’s favorite orphaned wizard boy have developed the strength of will to defeat Voldemort?  Our names do not define our identities, but if we harness the experiences resulting from them, then we can use our names to shape our characters!”

Greg found himself willing the minutes to drag slower.  At last, however, the hour ended, and people left quickly.  Soon, the room was almost empty except for Greg and the speaker.

“Mr. Charles?  Thank very much for your message.  I don’t know the last time I felt more inspired, more hopeful about someday discovering freedom from the agony my name brings me.  I’ve thought of changing it so many times, but somehow that always seemed wrong.  Dishonoring.  And now I’m glad I didn’t, because without the name, I wouldn’t have these opportunities for growth.”

“Sounds as if you’ve taken my message to heart, Gregory!  Thanks very much; it was wonderful meeting you.  Do you think you could help us pack up the chairs?  We need to be out soon so someone else can use the space.  Unless, of course, you have things to do.  In which case, feel free to run along, heh heh . . . .”