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The meaning of my names
Sep. 4th, 2004 12:07 amI was barely able drag myself to show up to my classes. My sickness is subsiding, but with a three-day weekend on the horizon it’s hard to make yourself show up to your Friday classes.
At IEEE, the electrical engineering social society on campus, I learned some disturbing news. The current freshman class is only made up of eight people. No, that’s not who’s left that’s how many they’re starting with this year. My freshman intro to EE class started twenty-five strong, and I think by last count we’re down to thirteen or fourteen left. In an effort to reverse this negative trend, my worried department chair is asking all of us to recruit people from our local high schools. They’ve got to be doing something wrong in recruiting, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps I’ll write my thoughts at a later time.
I talked with the Tulsa’s red-haired Student Activities Coordinator, Susan Krafft, and I randomly found out she graduated from my rival high school (Ft. Smith Northside) back in 1995. She even knew about how obsessed Northside’s coach Mr. Jones was with Quiz Bowl at that time. She took an American history class with him, but he would only lecture twice a week and let the class do whatever in the mean time. A funny guy when he was actually taught, the assiduous Larry Jones cared much more about his Quiz Bowl program. I’m sure I would have burned out a lot quicker in his program than I did at Southside.
A xanga friend, plaid space star, recently asked me what my middle name stood for. My driver’s license says that I’m officially known as Daniel K. Tu. I wish I had a cool story like Homer J. Simpson does for his middle name, but the K is just a holding letter. It stands for something in Vietnamese. Before I get into that, let me digress since I’m a history major. I want to tell you how I got all of my names.
Tu was the surname of my great-grandfather from China. So if you think my eyes look Chinese, it’s because my blood is actually one-eighth from the land of a billion people. My austere Dad tells me that it’s actually spelled Txu if you romanticized it from the actual Chinese character, but they misspelled it when taking the census (imagine that, the government making a mistake). My paternal great-grandfather didn’t mind though.
Daniel, as most of you well know, is the name of a great prophet in the Bible. Daniel became famous for interpreting dreams, and his three friends provide a great example of standing up for one’s faith. Of course, people best know the young sage for surviving being thrown into the lion’s den. However, if you threw me into that den, I’m fairly sure my flesh would be torn apart in seconds. Maybe the lions would spare me just because I don’t have a lot of meat on my bones.
But, how would my parents know about a Biblical story, since they grew up as Buddhists in Vietnam? When they first came to the quiet Ft. Smith, Arkansas, Eastside Baptist Church provided my family with a lot of help in 1980. Considering that my Mom was pregnant with my sister at the time, I understand why my parents show such gratitude to the people who helped them. There were three couples who helped them. One couple’s name I don’t remember, but I do recall Michael and Barbara Helm. But the people who named my sister and me were Ralph and Jane Holmes.
If Baptists ever had godparents, Ralph and Jane would be mine. The earnest elderly couple faithfully drove my sister and me to church every Sunday when I was a kid. During World War II, Ralph had served as a tailgunner for a B-17 Flying Fortress. I suppose Jane was a beautiful girl who fell for a guy in a uniform. I do consider them to be my American grandparents, and they did a wonderful job in place of my biological ones (who I wouldn’t see until much later due to the circumstances of war).
Well, my parents wanted to give my sister an American name so she would fit in better. As you might imagine, they had no clue what a good name would be. Good Asians respect their elders, so they naturally went to Ralph and Jane. Jane told my mother that if it turned out to be a girl (remember, ultrasound technology was just being developed) to name her Hannah and if it was a boy to name him Daniel. Conveniently, they’re both six-letter names. My Mom had my monkey sister at that time, and then four years later she bore witness to this clever rat. When my Mom told Jane how she came up with my name, Jane said she honestly didn’t remember. Ah, the psychology of remembering what holds meaning for us.
So Daniel means “Judged of God”. But my birth certificate actually reads Daniel Thanh Khac Duy Tu. Yes, my given Vietnamese name is Tu Thanh Khac Duy, surname first like most Asian cultures have it. I would put the inflection in there for you, but you American folk wouldn’t know how to say it anyways. Plus, I’m not sure how to spell my own name in my native language. I changed my official name later for clarity’s sake, and this way I could avoid the inevitable questioning of why I had so many names.
But, you lucky people, I’ll tell you. Thanh is my dad’s name, and he simply goes by Thanh Tu, or more correctly in the Asian way Tu Thanh. Thanh means “integrity”. Do you know what the difference between honesty and integrity is? Honesty means you act truthfully around people, while integrity means you can act truthfully even when you’re by yourself. I’d tell you that I could live up to my hardworking Dad’s name, but then I’d only be an honest man.
The holding letter K obviously stands for Khac. It comes from a Vietnamese phrase meaning “to write down in one’s memory.” Actually, to give it flavor, I should translate it as “to etch it down in one’s mind”, as if you recorded something permanently on a stone tablet in your head. I have been blessed with a lot of film for my photographic memory. However, I believe the wording in the phrase implies that you’re supposed to remember people as well. Perhaps, that power will awaken in me one day.
Duy means “unique”. It comes from a Vietnamese phrase describing someone “as the one and only”. I’m not sure if I’m the only Daniel K. Tu, but I’m the only one with my voice, my ideas, and my talents. This is the name I have let my Vietnamese friends I made at the conference call me in exchange for having them teach me my own language.
Ah, yes, the conference I went to reminds me of another strange point about names in Vietnamese. There are very few names that are strictly boys’ or girls’ names. Of course, great heroes are reserved for their respective genders. Boys tend to have spectacular names to imply greatness, while a girl gets flowers or the like to imply softness. Everything else is fair game, and the best example I can come up with is I met a Belgian girl at the conference with the same name as my Dad.
What’s in a name? A lot and a little. Do I think too much about my names? Probably. Not to speak in clichés, but let me sound like a broken record and say there’s a reason that I’m a history major.
Oh, I’d love to know the meaning of your names in comment or update form.
At IEEE, the electrical engineering social society on campus, I learned some disturbing news. The current freshman class is only made up of eight people. No, that’s not who’s left that’s how many they’re starting with this year. My freshman intro to EE class started twenty-five strong, and I think by last count we’re down to thirteen or fourteen left. In an effort to reverse this negative trend, my worried department chair is asking all of us to recruit people from our local high schools. They’ve got to be doing something wrong in recruiting, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps I’ll write my thoughts at a later time.
I talked with the Tulsa’s red-haired Student Activities Coordinator, Susan Krafft, and I randomly found out she graduated from my rival high school (Ft. Smith Northside) back in 1995. She even knew about how obsessed Northside’s coach Mr. Jones was with Quiz Bowl at that time. She took an American history class with him, but he would only lecture twice a week and let the class do whatever in the mean time. A funny guy when he was actually taught, the assiduous Larry Jones cared much more about his Quiz Bowl program. I’m sure I would have burned out a lot quicker in his program than I did at Southside.
A xanga friend, plaid space star, recently asked me what my middle name stood for. My driver’s license says that I’m officially known as Daniel K. Tu. I wish I had a cool story like Homer J. Simpson does for his middle name, but the K is just a holding letter. It stands for something in Vietnamese. Before I get into that, let me digress since I’m a history major. I want to tell you how I got all of my names.
Tu was the surname of my great-grandfather from China. So if you think my eyes look Chinese, it’s because my blood is actually one-eighth from the land of a billion people. My austere Dad tells me that it’s actually spelled Txu if you romanticized it from the actual Chinese character, but they misspelled it when taking the census (imagine that, the government making a mistake). My paternal great-grandfather didn’t mind though.
Daniel, as most of you well know, is the name of a great prophet in the Bible. Daniel became famous for interpreting dreams, and his three friends provide a great example of standing up for one’s faith. Of course, people best know the young sage for surviving being thrown into the lion’s den. However, if you threw me into that den, I’m fairly sure my flesh would be torn apart in seconds. Maybe the lions would spare me just because I don’t have a lot of meat on my bones.
But, how would my parents know about a Biblical story, since they grew up as Buddhists in Vietnam? When they first came to the quiet Ft. Smith, Arkansas, Eastside Baptist Church provided my family with a lot of help in 1980. Considering that my Mom was pregnant with my sister at the time, I understand why my parents show such gratitude to the people who helped them. There were three couples who helped them. One couple’s name I don’t remember, but I do recall Michael and Barbara Helm. But the people who named my sister and me were Ralph and Jane Holmes.
If Baptists ever had godparents, Ralph and Jane would be mine. The earnest elderly couple faithfully drove my sister and me to church every Sunday when I was a kid. During World War II, Ralph had served as a tailgunner for a B-17 Flying Fortress. I suppose Jane was a beautiful girl who fell for a guy in a uniform. I do consider them to be my American grandparents, and they did a wonderful job in place of my biological ones (who I wouldn’t see until much later due to the circumstances of war).
Well, my parents wanted to give my sister an American name so she would fit in better. As you might imagine, they had no clue what a good name would be. Good Asians respect their elders, so they naturally went to Ralph and Jane. Jane told my mother that if it turned out to be a girl (remember, ultrasound technology was just being developed) to name her Hannah and if it was a boy to name him Daniel. Conveniently, they’re both six-letter names. My Mom had my monkey sister at that time, and then four years later she bore witness to this clever rat. When my Mom told Jane how she came up with my name, Jane said she honestly didn’t remember. Ah, the psychology of remembering what holds meaning for us.
So Daniel means “Judged of God”. But my birth certificate actually reads Daniel Thanh Khac Duy Tu. Yes, my given Vietnamese name is Tu Thanh Khac Duy, surname first like most Asian cultures have it. I would put the inflection in there for you, but you American folk wouldn’t know how to say it anyways. Plus, I’m not sure how to spell my own name in my native language. I changed my official name later for clarity’s sake, and this way I could avoid the inevitable questioning of why I had so many names.
But, you lucky people, I’ll tell you. Thanh is my dad’s name, and he simply goes by Thanh Tu, or more correctly in the Asian way Tu Thanh. Thanh means “integrity”. Do you know what the difference between honesty and integrity is? Honesty means you act truthfully around people, while integrity means you can act truthfully even when you’re by yourself. I’d tell you that I could live up to my hardworking Dad’s name, but then I’d only be an honest man.
The holding letter K obviously stands for Khac. It comes from a Vietnamese phrase meaning “to write down in one’s memory.” Actually, to give it flavor, I should translate it as “to etch it down in one’s mind”, as if you recorded something permanently on a stone tablet in your head. I have been blessed with a lot of film for my photographic memory. However, I believe the wording in the phrase implies that you’re supposed to remember people as well. Perhaps, that power will awaken in me one day.
Duy means “unique”. It comes from a Vietnamese phrase describing someone “as the one and only”. I’m not sure if I’m the only Daniel K. Tu, but I’m the only one with my voice, my ideas, and my talents. This is the name I have let my Vietnamese friends I made at the conference call me in exchange for having them teach me my own language.
Ah, yes, the conference I went to reminds me of another strange point about names in Vietnamese. There are very few names that are strictly boys’ or girls’ names. Of course, great heroes are reserved for their respective genders. Boys tend to have spectacular names to imply greatness, while a girl gets flowers or the like to imply softness. Everything else is fair game, and the best example I can come up with is I met a Belgian girl at the conference with the same name as my Dad.
What’s in a name? A lot and a little. Do I think too much about my names? Probably. Not to speak in clichés, but let me sound like a broken record and say there’s a reason that I’m a history major.
Oh, I’d love to know the meaning of your names in comment or update form.
