Mr. Brain, Mr. Green, Mr. Breen, Mr. B, Big B, Homey B, Homey G,
Breen, Mister Um.
These are but a few of the names that I am called by high school
students in my classroom. There may be others, especially when I
hand back tests marked in red pen, but I don’t hear those and I
couldn’t repeat them anyway.
Mr. Brain, Mr. Green, Mr. Breen, Mr. B, Big B, Homey B, Homey G, Breen, Mister Um.
These are but a few of the names that I am called by high school students in my classroom. There may be others, especially when I hand back tests marked in red pen, but I don’t hear those and I couldn’t repeat them anyway.
My name is on the board behind me at all times, but that doesn’t help some students remember my name. As a chronic name-forgetter myself, I sympathize.
I’m great at recognizing faces. I can walk past a 36-year-old with whom I went to school in sixth grade and recognize their face, even if they’ve lost hair and added weight. My trouble is remembering what to call them.
Like most people with this affliction, I’ve gotten good at compensating.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I might say. Or, “How are you doing? It’s good to see you.” “What’s up?” works sometimes. I might even throw out a “Long time no see” when I’m in a bind.
The real tricky situation is when my wife and I bump into someone I know from long ago. The polite thing to do would be to introduce my wife to this person. However, since I can’t remember this person’s name, I can’t just say, “Jim, this is my wife Mary.” I did that once and the woman I called Jim was quite upset for some reason.
The answer, as I’m sure we have all done, is to introduce the person whose name we know to the person whose name escapes us. “I’d like you to meet my wife Mary,” I’ll say, trusting that my wife – accustomed to my forgetfulness – will chime in with, “Nice to meet you. And what’s your name?”
She’s saved me from embarrassment a few times with that one, although she does give me that “You owe me” look.
The weird thing is, I can spot celebrities in public and remember their names with no problem: I saw the rapper Dr. Dre walking out of a Los Angeles courthouse five years ago and recognized him even though he was in a suit and tie. I noticed Robert Englund (Freddy Krueger of “The Nightmare on Elm Street”) in the lobby of the Texas School Book Depository in Dallas. He was nice enough to sign an autograph for me, scrawling “Sweet Dreams, Robert Englund.” He can write really well considering the razor sharp blades on his fingers.
I noticed the actor Peter Coyote at the luggage carousel at the San Francisco Airport. I asked for his autograph, too, even though I couldn’t remember until later why I knew him. (It must have been for his appearance in the movie “E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial,” though it could have been for his role in “Return of the Living Dead 4: Necropolis”).
My skill extends to pseudo celebrities like Mills Watson, who was the sidekick to Claude Akins’ Sheriff Lobo character in the late-70s/early 80s sitcom. I spotted him in a Sacramento airport. I’m proud of that one.
At the high school, it took me the better part of the first semester to feel confident in calling on any student by name without looking at my seating chart. But now I know them all – even if what they want to be called is different from their given name: Jesus goes by “Jessie,” Karina goes by “Gabby,” Gabriela also goes by “Gabby,” Andreina goes by “Dina,” while one Andrew goes by “Andrew” and another goes by “Drew.” One Stefany (with a ‘y’) goes by “Stef,” but the other two Stephanies (with ‘ie’s’) will look up if I call on Stef. As for me, I’m finally used to being called “Mr. Breen,” though I must admit in my first month at the school I thought the students were asking for my dad.
So, if I haven’t seen you for awhile and we meet on the street or in the grocery store, don’t be offended if I say, “How are you doing?” That doesn’t necessarily mean I forgot your name.
It probably just means I don’t like you enough to remember you.
Adam Breen (who could forget that?) teaches journalism at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
