My Irish name

Ijust finished grading an essay by an otherwise diligent student who submitted his paper to Professor “Beracca.” Basically, it’s as if the kid played a whack-a-mole game with the letters in my name. He randomly assembled the consonants and vowels into a vague pattern and hoped for the best.

He got a passing grade. He spelled the names of the authors under discussion correctly.

And this is not exactly the first time my name has been misspelled.

As a student at Dartmouth College in the mid1970s, I was aware that I didn’t exactly blend in. Some kids had names that were easy to spell insofar as major buildings on campus had the same names carved into granite above the entryways.

I suspected that I was the only child of Sicilian descent to be part of the institution apart from Michael Corleone in The Godfather, and he was a fictional character created by Mario Puzo.

So I wasn’t terribly surprised when I received a piece of mail from Dartmouth addressed to Regina R. O’Barreca ‘79.

Think I’m making this up? I don’t have the imagination.

My alma mater still has trouble getting it right. Even when thanking me for the modest help I’ve offered the fundraising efforts, the most recent class newsletter messed with my name. Really? Our 40th reunion is next year. I suspect the only chance I have of convincing them to pay attention is to call myself Regina McRose McBarreca, Marchioness of Sheepshead Bay. The guys were nice about it once I pointed out the error; they apologized, adorably and sincerely. And then they asked me to make lasagna.

I’m kidding—but only about the lasagna part. They no longer eat gluten.

But I love my name. Even in marriage, I never considered changing it. Having learned how to spell it, I was keeping it.

My first name, in contrast, shuttles between Regina when I am in academic mode and Gina when I’m being myself. I first adopted Regina in high school. I thought it made me sound fancier, smarter, thinner (I thought the capital G was a fat letter) and more regal.

Naturally, none of it worked. But at least when strangers send letters asking for favors or leave messages smacking of false intimacy, which begin with “Hello there, Regina!” as if we’re old buddies, I know they’re faking it.

As for regular misspellings, there are some benefits. My bank will now deposit checks into my account as long as somewhere there are Gs, Bs, Rs and Cs after “Pay to the Order of.” The sequence is inconsequential.

I’m happy to apply the same flexibility and generosity to the otherwise diligent student. Once.