My name has always been a constant source of genuine curiosity, admiration and ridicule. Although the general consensus is, who does she think she is? (…if they only knew...) the first question that usually pops out is: Is that your real name? What an irrelevant question. Most people don’t know that the actual Queen Esther of antiquity wasn’t named Esther at birth. She wasn’t royalty, either. She was a war refugee and an orphan, and if it weren’t for her one relation that took her in (a cousin named Mordechai that she called her uncle), she would have been homeless. When she became a queen, no one in the entire kingdom cared whether her actual birth name was Esther or not. It simply wasn’t important. There were other larger more pressing matters at hand—like stopping the complete and utter annihilation of her people by a megalomaniac in the King’s court. Ask me something that matters, like if I know what my purpose in life is—not "Why don’t you have a last name anymore?"
Over time, my name has become a handy little barometer. When I meet someone new, I don't necessarily insist that they call me Queen Esther right away. I usually wait to see what they’ll say after I introduce myself. A blacktress buddy of mine likes to remind me that not everyone can say "Queen" to a black woman. Maybe so—but I think it’s a little more fundamental than that. I was raised to know that the respect that is given in this small slight social gesture is a massively huge indication of how much respect the person in question has for me—and for themselves. If I tell you that my name is Captain Kangaroo, that’s what I’m expecting you to call me. If you have a problem with it, that’s your problem, your issue, not mine. And when it comes to me and my name, some of you don’t have issues—you have subscriptions.
Upon introducing myself, the reactions I get are fairly entertaining. They balk. They smirk. Sometimes they flat out laugh in my face. It’s a quick and easy social editing process, really. Who would want to have anything to do with anyone that behaved that way towards them? I especially enjoy it when they decide what to call me or when they insist that it’s not true, that’s not my name, it simply has to be something other than that. Gee, I think to myself, this is going to be a very short conversation—because I’m not going to answer to anything else.
That’s not entirely true, though. There are lots of names swirling around me all the time: what my family calls me, what my friends who are my family call me—those are the names that reveal my inner spirit. Even the names that strangers say expose a lot. The Dominicans say morena. The crackheads say Nubia. The old Jews who know me say Hadassah. What’s in a name? Everything, evidently. Sticking to the name on your birth certificate isn’t a hard and fast rule for some of us. In some Native American tribes, you go on a Vision Quest to find your true name. In the Old Testament, God changed Abram’s name to Abraham and Sarai’s name to Sarah to better reflect their inner selves and their purpose. Actually, God changed people’s names in the Bible constantly. And of course, Black folks do it all the time. Some people believe that when someone says your name, what they are really saying to you is what that name means. Saying that meaning brings it into existence in your essence and your life.
Surprise, surprise—the name Esther means "Star."
COPYRIGHT 2004 QUEEN ESTHER