This Blog Has Moved

Sorry for the inconvenience, but this blog has a new home, over at barakorbarack.blogspot.com. Please visit us (Barack and me) there.

Thanks!

Barak

Differently Spelled, Differently Abled

My mom, the self-professed “ancient progenitor,” had this to say about the rise of a different spelling for my name.  I’m paraphrasing, so you don’t get the full warp and woof of her comic voice, but here’s what she had to say on the topic: 

All your life, you’ve had this exotic, unpronounceable name.  And though you’ve come to accept it and make it your own, it wasn’t easy for you.  (Sorry about that.) [Yes, she speaks in parenthetical asides.]

Now, by some crazy twist of fate, your name has become one of the most spoken names in the country, and while this could have simplified your life, he spells it differently.  So you have a new problem. I can just see it — for the next four or even eight years, every time you have to spell your name, people will think you’re joking or delusional or worse. At the very least, you’ll have to say something like, “Barak, no ‘see.” And they’ll reply, “Oh, I’m sorry! Can you hear?”     

By Enki!

Astute readers of the last post may have noted the arrival of a new face to the scene.  That would be Enki.  As in “By Enki …!” (see below for details.) 

Did I invent Enki? I did not. Enki is a product of the ancient Sumerians, for whom s/he was:

The Sumerian high god of water and intellect, creation, wisdom and medicine who could restore the dead to life. He was the source of all secret and magical knowledge of life and immortality. Enki possessed the secret of me, ‘culture, civilization’, which is the genius of progress in knowledge to lead humanity. He invented civilization for the people and assigned to each his destiny. He created order in the cosmos. He filled the rivers with fish. He invented the plough and the yoke so that farmers could till the earth with oxen. He made the grain grow. He is the father of all plants.

Thanks, Encyclopedia Mythica™!

The Difference Between Barak and Barack

“You mean, like Barack Obama!”  

Well, no.  ”Barak,” which sounds the same as “Barack,” is Hebrew for lightning. “Baraka” is Arabic for blessed. I recently read that Barack Obama shortened his given name, which was Baracka (I won’t commit to that as verified truth, so don’t quote me). As in Amiri Baraka, né LeRoi Jones.

“Baruch” is Hebrew for blessing. Baruch is also a common Hebrew name which has nothing to do with my name, as far as I know. It is the imperative form of the Hebrew word to bless. The third-person male past form of that verb (he blessed) is “barach” … which is closer to my name in sound but no closer in meaning. 

I don’t know how to say “lightning” in Arabic.

So, when people ask if there’s a connection between Barak and Barack, first I bore them with part or all of that explanation (depending on when their eyes glaze over or I fall asleep on my feet), and then I tell them, “No, probably not.”  

But is there an etymological connection? I’ve never heard of one. But maybe, back in the molten dawn of language, before meteorology, before monotheism, before the Channel 7 Weather Report, such unexplained phenomena as incomprehensible lightning bolts provoked terror and drove people to speak to their gods. Quaking in fear at a sky full of fire, they’d offer blessings to whatever deity might be listening. As in, “Jesus Christ, that was a big bolt of lightning!”  Or, somewhat more prehistorically, “By Enki, if the next sky fire does not kill me I shall sacrifice my youngest daughter at the full moon!” And from that excited ferment sprang two words which eventually went their separate ways. Maybe.  

In any case, my name is not the same as Barack Obama’s.

My name is Barak

My name is Barak.  Not Barack, as so many helpful people suggest these days, but Barak. That’s been my name since long before Barack Obama became a household word. And over the past four years, my name has slowly emerged from a deeply exotic obscurity to become one of the most recognized names in the U.S., if not the world.  Later this year, it will probably become the most recognized unusual name ever. More than Gwyneth. Or Haruki.

I grew up correcting mispronunciations, ignoring other mispronunciations, explaining my name’s origins, and enduring a lot of teasing about it. I imagine Barack Obama did as well.  Whether the name is Barak or Barack, it’s not John or George.

And so, in a shameless attempt to capitalize on the fluke that has turned my formerly eccentric name into a commonplace, I present a perspective on what it’s like to be named Barak. Or Barack. I have a few things in common with Barack Obama (more on that later), but the one thing I know better than 99.999% of the world is what it’s like to have his name. Because it was and still is my name, even if that sense of unique ownership is a little shaky these days.

I’ll tell you what my name means, what his name means, and if they’re related. And I’ll list all the things kids used to say to tease me about this name, from obvious to historical to pop culture references. Consider this an extremely trivial window on Barack Obama’s life.

We’re All Barack Now

But my own story only goes so far. I’m hoping anyone whose name sounds like mine — Barack, Baraque, Barrack, Brock, other people named Barak — will post his (her?) own stories of growing up with a name that sounds like this and, maybe more interestingly, of what it’s like to be a Barack or Barak in the Obama era. What’s the funniest thing anyone’s said to you lately? The dumbest? 

So this is an invitation. On this site you can read about growing up Barak (or Barack).  Or better still, some of you can post about it.  Leave your story of having a Barack soundalike name in the Comments area below, and I’ll post the best as real posts in the main area of the site.