My first son’s name followed a cherished family tradition, one that is often seen in Black families where unique spellings are used to create a cohesive pattern. His name, Jayden, comes from a biblical source, reflecting a common cultural practice regardless of religious beliefs. However, when it came to naming my second son, born over a decade later, I decided to break away from tradition.
“I’ve chosen the name Theo,” I announced to my friends during a pottery painting event, albeit from a chair that felt far too rigid for my six-month-pregnant self. I expected reactions from my circle of Black mothers, but the responses caught me off guard.
“You can’t name him that!”
“No, we’ll help you find something better.”
As they proposed alternate names starting with ‘T,’ I felt the weight of disappointment. I allowed myself to acknowledge the hurt that came from having my choice dismissed by people who hadn’t even met my son yet, even though I felt a connection with him growing inside me. I also recognized the love behind their suggestions; naming a Black child, particularly a Black boy, carries significant weight.
For Black mothers, naming our children involves navigating additional complexities. Stereotypical Black names often become the subject of ridicule. Jokes that exaggerate these names are used to undermine the dignity of Black individuals, reinforcing harmful stereotypes. Names that hint at ethnic backgrounds other than white can lead to discrimination. For instance, President Barack Obama faced incessant scrutiny regarding his middle name, Hussein, as it became fodder for unfounded conspiracy theories.
My first son’s middle name, which has Arabic roots and profound meaning, remained a secret until high school. I kept it hidden out of fear that it would expose him to prejudice. This reality of name discrimination is pervasive; studies show candidates with Black-sounding names receive fewer callbacks from employers. Yet, a distinctly Black name is also a powerful assertion of identity. Historically, enslaved Africans were stripped of their names and heritage, and reclaiming that through naming is an act of empowerment.
As I considered how to name my son, I wrestled with difficult questions: Should I highlight his Blackness or African heritage? Would his name lead to discrimination? Would he face constant corrections to his name? However, naming my youngest son Theo was an act of letting go of these worries. There’s no grand story behind his name; I simply felt it resonated with him, bringing me joy—a radical sentiment for many Black families.
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In summary, naming my Black son Theo was more than just a choice; it was a release of the anxieties tied to cultural expectations and societal perceptions. It was an embrace of joy and individuality, a step towards honoring both his identity and my own journey as a mother.