So Many Scott Glasses

A Google search of my name, Scott Glass, generates an array of people, one of whom is me. It is a bit strange to look at these other men who (might) share my name. Who are these other Scott Glasses?

I look at their faces and have the feeling that I am looking into an alternate dimension: could have been him; could have been him; could have been. A businessman “Scott Glass," a dealmaker “Scott Glass,” a couple of mustachioed “Scott Glasses.” But I am not any of these Scott Glasses. I am me. I am my own history. I am my own experiences. Still, it is a little weird and disarming to see all of these Scott Glasses.

But I wonder, what does this name have to do with me, with my history, with my experiences?

After all, I had no choice in the matter. My parents selected “Scott” without any input from me. They wanted an “S” name because, in the Jewish tradition, children are named for the deceased. In this case, I am named for my Great Grandpa Sam. If I had a say, I would have picked that name. I like that name. It sounds strong in a way I do not think mine does. But that's the way it goes. My own kids had no say in their names. My son, Inman, is named for the protagonist in the novel Cold Mountain. We found our daughter’s name, Brin, on a walk through Chicago's Rosewood Cemetery.
Yep, that's the way it goes.

I am thinking about this because I watched Idris Goodwin’s spoken word, “Say My Name.” In his piece, he explores the meaning of his name and what it was like growing up in midwest, middle-class America with an unusual name. As he puts it, “I asked my mom if I could change my name to something else. Mark, Tony, Sean, something else.” By the end of his piece, however, it is clear that he has embraced his name and has made it his own.

Perhaps this is what freedom means: the ability to make your name resonate with the specific who that you are.

Then again, while watching the film Into The Wild, the main character goes about it a bit differently. After hitting the road with plans to tramp across the United States, he decides he needs to name himself. Goodbye Chris McCandless. Hello Alexander Supertramp.

This reminds me of another spoken word piece, this one by Saul Williams. It is called "Coded Language," and in it he says this:

Which gets me thinking. What if, at a certain age, children could decide whether or not the wanted to stick with the name their parents gave them or if they wanted to change it? How many kids would take advantage of that opportunity? And what does it mean to "claim oneself?" Is that what McCandless was doing by becoming Alexander Supertramp? Williams makes this clear connection between "naming" and "claiming." In fact, it is what we have done throughout our history. As soon as we had language we began to symbolically identify everything around us. Trees became rees, ants became ants, sky became sky. Our names made these things knowable. Our names allowed us to define things and pass on our knowledge. So, yes, to name is to claim, to know, to own. Maybe we should give kids this option.

I tweeted Williams's statement once, and a hip-hop poet I know reminded me of Malcolm X’s journey through an array of names. Each corresponded to a certain moment in his development. It made me think about what names I might choose to represent my development. I am not sure what I would pick for my teens, my twenties. But as I get closer to the age I am now, I think about MrG and what it means. Here is one possibility: