My maiden name is Roark.
My parents met each in the teeny tiny town of Gas City, Indiana where they had both grown up. In this teeny tiny town the name Roark is pronounced Row-ark. So I started my life as a Kellie Row-ark. But then my dad joined the military, which took us all over the country. Everywhere we went, when my parents were asked their names, and they answered, “Row-ark,” they always got strange stares and collective “Huh?!”s.
So my mom did the only logical thing: she changed the pronunciation to Roark (rhyming with Mork…and yes, I know it also rhymes with dork. I unfortunately learned that in about the 4th grade). My dad went along with it, and I really have no memory of ever being a Row-ark.
Whenever we visited our family in Gas City we just slipped into the whole Row-ark thing with ease, and then slipped right out of it when we went back to our home in Orlando or Great Lakes or Charleston or wherever the US Navy had us for the time being.
Did you know there’s a scene from the movie, A Time to Kill, where Sandra Bullock’s character’s name pronunciation comes into question? Her character is Ellen Roark, and they discuss this very dilemma. I can’t remember what is ultimately decided, so I’ll have to re-watch that movie sometime.
So, anyway, my parents divorced over two decades ago. My dad then remarried, and then a few years later divorced again. Then he married again…only this time he married his first cousin’s ex-wife, who had lived in Gas City her whole life. Well, guess what? My dad is a Row-ark again.
(We may not agree on name pronunciation, but we agree on what’s important. Go Cubs!)
A couple of weekends ago I traveled to Gas City to attend my cousin’s funeral with my dad. Indiana Mimi, Bonny Annie and Cap’n Jack Henry went with me. Indiana Mimi stayed with her aunt.
On the drive home I was telling her about the funeral, and I kept naming people as Row-arks. Bonny Annie was listening from the backseat, and suddenly said, “Row-arks? Why are you saying Row-ark? Isn’t it Roark?”
“Do you call yourself Row-ark when you’re there?” Indiana Mimi wanted to know.
“No…I don’t call myself anything when I’m there. But they are Row-arks, so that’s how I’m referring to them. It’d be silly to call them anything else,” I tried to explain.
“But…but…they aren’t Row-arks,” Bonny Annie sputtered. “That’s not who they are.”
“Yes,” Indiana Mimi said with a sigh, “they are who they are. We are who they are not.”
And then light broke through the clouds and angels sang. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
They are who they are. We are who they are not.
I’m having tee-shirts made. One for me. One for my sister. One for Indiana Mimi. If I knew how to get hold of my dad’s second ex-wife I might offer her one too, but considering she pulled a gun on him once at the end of their marriage, she might not want one…unless, of course, it was for target practice.
