A definition. An identity. A curse.

There are things we associate with names; attitude, actions, feelings. No matter how much we may dislike them, they are a part of us, a small definition of who we are.

My name is Shea (pronounced Sh-ay). My parents didn’t find out I was going to be a girl. I spent my first 24 hours nameless, until my dad pitched ‘Shea”, and it stuck. People have always had trouble spelling it, but until recently, it hasn’t really affected me, aside from some weird looks at Starbucks. Now, it is a daily tease that will likely follow me much further than the halls of Randall High.

It all started my freshman year, when a substitute teacher with a heavy foreign accent mispronounced my name during roll call, yelling out “SHEE-UH” until it sunk in that she was calling me. Everyone in the class turned and stared at me, laughing. Cheeks flushing red, I raised my hand with a snicker trying to play it off. It was an honest mistake, I couldn’t blame this woman.

Then, it spread.

In the hallways, “SHEE-UH!”

“Hey, how’s it going, “SHEE-UH?”

I know it is a joke, and I don’t mind it from the majority of my peers solely because I know they are just having fun. But, like every good joke, there are the people who kill it.

At the beginning of this semester, another teacher began mispronouncing my name. Knowing I would be spending the remainder of my year with him, I  corrected him, but to no avail. He quickly informed me that “it would make sense” for my name to be pronounced “Sh-ay” if it were spelled exactly like that, S-h-a-y, or even S-h-a-e. Not only did this upset me, it made me question- what is really in a name?

I realized that each person has their own way of doing things. There are different ways of thinking and perceiving the world, but there is a line between making a mistake, making a joke, and being blatantly disrespectful.

To deliberately alter the pronunciation of a name is like making fun of someone with a disability. No one chooses their name. So next time you think it is funny to ridicule someone because of what their parents bestowed upon them from the day they were born, just know it says more about who you are.

I have accepted the fact that I will probably be called “Sheee-uh” at my high school reunion, and I’m okay with that. Just know, my name is Shea. Say it however you’d like, because ultimately, it reflects who you are, not who I am.