Learning to Love My Name
By: Emily Hricak (pronounced ree-sack)
October 26, 2023
Photograph: Western Pennsylvania Slovak Cultural Association
“Hricak. It’s spelled H-R-I-C-A-K.” The phrase I recited every time my last name was incorrectly pronounced. My face would turn red and the class would laugh as I began my spiel on how to correctly say my name. Explaining the roots of my name became an annoyance. “Yes, the H is silent and the C is soft like an S.” This small irritation was an on-going embarrassment. Then, my ninth grade history teacher perfectly pronounced my last name upon seeing it for the first time. I was shocked. My relationship with my name began to change.
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He recognized the origin of my name, correctly identifying it as Slovak, and encouraged me to learn more. Through family stories, information gathered by our family’s self-appointed genealogist (Aunt Sally), and state-of-the-art sources like Ancestry.com, I’ve begun to piece together a cultural history of my ancestors. They risked everything to come to the States as a part of the Eastern European migration at the turn of the twentieth century. They worked the coal mines and raised big Catholic families. Like so many immigrants, they came to make a better life for themselves and their offspring, like me.
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I’ve connected with Hricaks from around the world, from Slovakia to here in the United States. In Bratislava, everyone can pronounce my name. My Ciocia (Aunt) Theadora is teaching me to make Slovak dishes, adding Halupki and pierogies to my cooking repertoire. My appreciation grows the more I learn, and I believe it is my duty to remember and carry on my ancestors’ stories. In understanding my roots, I now sit up tall during roll call and am proud to share my family name.
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Given the dominance of issues regarding immigration in the media and the conversation about who is a “real American,” I see my history with my surname through a new lens. Looking at me, you would see an insider, but when you try to pronounce my name, I am on the outside. I’ve begun to understand, in some small way, what it means to be one of the “others.” In a simple and powerful way, a kid from Venice, California can catch a glimpse into a situation in which millions of people find themselves. It makes me realize that there is no “them.” There is only “us.”
Emily, your blog about the journey with your last name, Hricak, struck a chord with me. It's a powerful narrative that transcends personal experience, touching on the broader themes of identity and belonging in America. Your story reminds us that names carry deep cultural histories and personal narratives. It's a poignant reflection on how something as simple as a surname can shape our sense of self and our place in the world. Your realization – there is no 'them,' only 'us' – is a profound takeaway in today's divided society. It made me reflect on my own background and how we all, regardless of our origins, share a collective human experience. Thank you for sharing your story and inspiring a deeper understanding of identity in the melting pot of America.
As a person with a frequently mispronounced name, I resonated with this post. Names connect us to our culture. I had a fear of my name growing up where I would allow people to mispronounce or misspell it and to this day I go by "Marie" whenever I order food. I think there is a lot of shame when it comes to having a non "American" name, when in actuality it is something to be proud of. I'm so happy your journey came to such a great conclusion and I hope to see you advocating for yourself and teaching others to advocate for themselves in the future. Excellent job.