A sparkling Sunday morning at the beach, parents watching on as the nippers drag their paddleboards towards the surf club. As always, the session ends with an awards presentation, where the standout nippers get three cheers and a voucher for the local burger joint.
While the kids catch their breath, one of the group leaders, a gruff-but-funny larrikin with a voice like a frog and a gift for a good one-liner, pipes up to say, “You know, I’ve got grandkids, and at my house, there’s a rule: Never say ‘I can’t’. Always say ‘I’ll try.’”
That day at nippers, my son won the bravery award. He’d suffered a nasty tumble on shore and ran straight to his mother for comfort, as six-year-olds do. But after a cuddle and a few deep breaths, he mustered his courage and got back in the surf. Pat on the back for him.
When Mr Larrikin was about to announce my son as the winner of that day’s bravery award, he took the opportunity to wax lyrical once again.
“You know, back when I worked in the courts, I had to call out people’s names,” he said. “And if you couldn’t pronounce somebody’s surname, well, you just called them ‘Wheelbarrow’. So, the bravery award this week goes to …”
Yep. My son’s surname was too hard to pronounce, so he’d just have to settle with Wheelbarrow.
Yep. My son’s surname was too hard to pronounce, so he’d just have to settle with Wheelbarrow.
Obviously the ‘never say I can’t’ mantra doesn’t apply to pronouncing ethnic names.
I wasn’t one of the parents watching on that morning, but my wife – who does not have a difficult-to-pronounce name – was.
When she came home and told me about Mr Larrikin’s quip, it sounded familiar. Like something I would have experienced as a second-generation Aussie in the 1980s and 90s.
But come on, Australia. This is 2021. It’s a time when two of our most prominent state premiers have the names Palaszczuk and Berekjiklian. A time when many people living in countries like ours are , shedding their Westernised equivalents and taking back their cultural identity.
Are we still doing the ‘unpronounceable ethnic name’ thing? Really?
At first, I wasn’t fazed by Mr Larrikin’s faux pas. The old paranoia of my migrant psyche is long-gone.
But when my wife told her friends what had happened, they were mortified and encouraged her to confront Mr Larrikin (who by all accounts is a stand-up citizen and all-round nice guy).
But when my wife told her friends what had happened, they were mortified and encouraged her to confront Mr Larrikin (who by all accounts is a stand-up citizen and all-round nice guy). And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I was bothered by it. Good ol Mr Larrikin might not have meant any harm, but he needs to do better.
So, two Sundays later at nippers, when my wife crossed paths with Mr Larrikin with our son in tow, she gently quipped, “So, have you figured out how to say his name yet?”
A startled Mr Larrikin muttered, “Huh, what?”
“Two weeks ago, remember?” my wife replied. “You couldn’t pronounce his surname so you just called him ‘Wheelbarrow’.”
Mr Larrikin squirmed and squeezed out an awkward smile.
“Oh, and by the way,” my wife teased. “That was just after you finished telling the kids to never say ‘I can’t’, but when it came to his name, you didn’t even try!”
Oh, and by the way,” my wife teased. “That was just after you finished telling the kids to never say ‘I can’t’, but when it came to his name, you didn’t even try!
Mr Larrikin shuffled his feet, puffed out his chest and fobbed it off by telling another story about his days working in the courts.
So, does it really matter? Aren’t we just being just a little bit touchy?
Well, let’s take the example of an Australian who had to deal with this rubbish in a very public way: the former race discrimination commissioner, Professor Tim Soutphommasane.
Columnist Andrew Bolt once Soutphommasane in a TV interview as “Tim Sou … what’s-his-name”. Former radio broadcaster Alan Jones in a 2GB segment, saying, “Listen you dope! Tim Soutphommasane, with the unpronounceable and unspellable name.”
On his name mistreatments, Soutphommasane once the Australian Financial Review, “If someone says to me they’re not even going to try to pronounce my name, that doesn’t necessarily send a good signal. It says that they’re not even bothered to treat me with respect.”
And it really is that simple.
The message that Mr Larrikin was sending to my boy at nippers that morning was that his name is so different - so foreign - that it’s not worthy of respect or effort. Straight into the too-hard basket.
If Mr Larrikin had attempted to pronounce it, he might have got it completely wrong and made a bit of a goose of himself. Instead, he chose to make a goose of a six-year-old.
The message that Mr Larrikin was sending to my boy at nippers that morning was that his name is so different - so foreign - that it’s not worthy of respect or effort. Straight into the too-hard basket.
Why? Because he has a name that doesn’t fit Mr Larrikin’s narrow view of what an Australian name should sound like.
For the record, my son shares my surname, which is Constantinou. Say the word “constant”, and then say “ee-nou”.
Not that hard at all.
It’s a bit like Constantine, and I think it’s a fair bet Mr Larrikin wouldn’t have too much trouble with that.
The point is, it’s okay if you get the name wrong. But at least show the respect to have a go.
Never say ‘I can’t’, Mr Larrikin. Always say ‘I’ll try’.
