name
My name is Seth. That is my name. And in some respects, it’s the very first thing I owned upon entering this world. Some would argue that perhaps the honor belongs to my body or my soul, but I think for the sake of this blog, I, before all other things, owned my name. Now, a name? “What’s in a name?” he cliched. Hardly anything really. But you’re stuck with it. For the rest of your life, you are stuck with your name. Maybe not the one you were born with, but certainly the one you go by. People will always call you by your name. You will always respond to your name being called. You will remember how to write your name. You will practice doing so. Some things you own will even have your name on them! When you meet someone by the same name, you almost feel as though it’s a jumping off point. Almost as though you and that person have a shared set of experiences simply because you both own the same name. You might even become resentful of the person for the same reason. Why on Earth—No, how on Earth could somebody else own your same name?
Fact of the matter, no one owns your same name, because you’ve owned it your whole life. You’ll own it for the rest of your life. Because that name is yours. When people call you by your name, they are addressing the whole of your existence as it relates to them. There could be two Seths in a room and someone will shout, “Seth!” Both heads may turn, but quickly the loudmouth will respond, “Not you!” Clarifying that they weren’t calling that Seth’s attention, they were calling mine. They were calling the attention of a person who in Kindergarten peed his pants on the bus. They were calling the attention of a person who in the 7th grade falsified a document from the school claiming a week-long vacation was coming up. They were calling the attention of me! And the easiest access to the whole of my existence is not by shouting out every memory but instead by one simple four-letter monosyllabic proper noun.
Seth, in the bible, was the third son of Adam and Eve and apparently Eve’s attempt at forgetting about the death of Abel. Seth in the body I occupy is the middle child in what could only be described as a biblically messy family tree. In Egyptian mythology, Seth is the god of deserts, storms, disorder, violence, and foreigners. In my personal mythology, I am the god of taking off my socks too late into getting into bed that a pile starts to form under the blanket.
My mother chose the name Seth on what I recall hearing was a whim. The story really does go just about that far or I guess as far as January 20, 1994 take away nine months. I didn’t know how to spell my middle name until one day at the DMV with my mother I was filling out a form to get my permit. My mother, over my shoulder, looked at my spelling and remarked on its construction. I was stunned. My middle name, which I had long lived with embarrassment about simply because it was so uncharacteristic, became doubly embarrassing when I discovered that not only was it uncharacteristic, but also completely unfounded in its spelling. See, for years, I spelled my middle name J-E-R-E-M-Y. And it was on that day in the DMV that with a smirk and a giggle my mother correctively spelled out J-E-R-A-M-E-Y. A bastardization of a barely acceptable name. It was as though Johnny Cash had to inform people that “No, no, it’s not Sue. It’s Soo. S-O-O." As though that would quell a band of ape-like adversaries. The incident resulted in a speedy trip to the attendance office wherein I’d have to correct the name I’d eventually have on my diploma. However, it did answer the question I had always thought every time my mother claimed that across her three children each one of them shared the same number of letters in their names. Which I guess is a feat in her eyes.
If having issue spelling my own middle name wasn’t enough, the number of times someone has uttered “Gilksman” upon reading my last name is damn near heartbreaking. Even just rereading that I couldn’t bring myself to say it the way its written. Gliksman, by way of nomenclatural tradition, came from my father’s side. I’ve heard tell that Ellis Island wound up changing it from something more along the lines of Gluckman, which makes sense because Gluck means “happiness” in German. Not saying we’re happy by any means, but Gliks doesn’t mean anything in German. And I’m not saying we’re German either. We’re Polish. And I’m mostly Italian. So… Go figure that one out.
Seth Jeramey Gliksman. That’s what you’ve learned so far. You’ve learned just some of what that name is. The purpose of this blog is to serve as an autobiography. The story of me, but not necessarily written by me. Rather, it’s written by the things I own. (What better way to start than by the name I was given?) I have a firm belief in something I think Jean-Paul Sartre was responsible for coming up with and that is the idea that we are only so much as we do. I think by some extension this could translate not only to the things we do, but to the things we keep. And just as our names are not simply letters on a license, the things we own are not simply objects in a room. They define us. They encapsulate memories and experiences. Some are cherished while others are just hard to get rid of. Some of these things just look nice and some of them can draw tears when dwelled upon. You have gifts that within them hold the whole of a relationship you have with another person. Notes you leave yourself. Garbage you believe you’ll eventually sift through. Everything you own, in some way, holds a piece of your being on this planet. Maybe this is why Buddhists try to keep away from ownership. They have a lot less to lock them down from floating off into propertyless nirvana.
While there is much more to be said of my name and the people involved in its creation (and mine), I wanted to use it as more of an example of just what ownership of a thing can translate to. In future posts, you’ll find certain things will lead to my tangential expounding upon a person who played a role in a chunk of my life. You’ll find some things to have no meaning and the meaning that has. Eventually, you’ll just come to learn that Seth Jeramey Gliksman owns a lot of shit.
