dyshanhics

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet (you knew this was coming)

About a week ago I met Mr. Man T's dad. Let's call him Mr. Dad for short. We picked up Mr. Dad from the airport... we said our hi's, shook hands... it was all very polite and nice. So during the car ride he began asking me questions (non-threatening ones) in Vietnamese and English. Did you start work yet, do you know what Hanh means, do you know what else it means, your parents never told you what it meant, do you have an American name, you DON'T have an American name, but Hanh is so hard to pronounce, what is your last name, oh-no you have two names that are hard to pronounce, hm... let's give you an American name...

.....
.......

How about Rose?

All I could say is... I like my name and is it really that hard to pronounce?

And Mr. Man T brought up the fact that his little brother has an African American name.

All in all I thought it was a nice encounter, I wasn't terrified of talking to him even though I didn't know what to say to the fact that he wanted my name changed within the first 5 minutes of meeting me. Plus, he's a funny man.