What's in a Name?

"There are no b!#$%s in this class." The words caught the attention of the loud and chaotic mass of students before me. As they were going through their morning exercises--making fun of each other by using every objectionable name imaginable--I slowly spelled out the new ground rules. There are no n!##%&s, ho's or m@%#*!*%&?s..." The middle schoolers settled, astonishment beaming from their widening eyes. Their jaws slacked when I had them repeat the vulgarity-laced phrases on the board. I explained that everyone would be called by their preferred name and that they would start by addressing me as Mr. David or Mr. Cole.

"Why?" they asked, woefully unaware of the harm they routinely inflicted.

Because, name is nature, and respect is due a dog was my deliberately cryptic reply.

I was raised not to call people out of their name. My grandmother named me David, after the great Hebrew patriarch. She taught me that my name meant beloved and not to let folks shorten or alter it. Dave did not slay Goliath, she admonished. Nor was Dave king of Israel. She explained names often carried the weight of expectation. What you called others was as important as anything else you could say to them was her belief. More vital, though, was what we allowed others to call us. Hence, my edict.

It was bumpy at first, but eventually something remarkable happened to this class of rough talking, tougher acting adolescents. Increasingly, outbursts like, @!#$%, dont look at me," were being met with a growing chorus of, "there are no @#$%s in this class!" Conflicts decreased; while smiles and learning flourished. The kids even learned to tolerate my lectures. Surely my grandmother was on to something.

Other teachers wondered why my class was so quiet and courteous. My response was simple as it was idealistic. "I treat them as they deserve to be treated and expect no less of them".

What was most remarkable though, was that it wasnt my class. I was their substitute teacher. The transformation they experienced took place in a two week period. For the two years I subbed, this ritual of establishing respect and mutual worth had the same results--regardless of were it was applied. So-called troubled, hyper, or violent kids all rose to the expectation that they too, were worthy of being addressed and treated with respect. Was I a super teacher or psychological genius? Not by any stretch. I simply worked a principle. Thats the great thing about principles; they work regardless of who uses them. Later in my career, I saw a memorable illustration of the power of positive expectations. It came from the story of a legendary trader with a comic strip name.

The Magic of Many Cows

"Mahana-you-ugly! Get out of that tree!" I was at a leadership development retreat when I heard this line from a campy, dated flick produced by the Mormon Church. The video was titled Johnny Lingo and it was based on a short story of the same name. Despite its unintentional political incorrectness, it was hard to dismiss the invaluable lessons it demonstrated.

Johnny Lingo opens with a boy running across an unnamed Polynesian island to a Hawaii Five-O type soundtrack. He arrives at the village and announces to the kindly white shopkeeper who owns the island's only store, "He comes, he comes! Johnny Lingo! Johnny Lingo!" The village explodes with excitement.

Johnny Lingo was handsome, young and wealthy, having shrewdly amassed a relative fortune. An outstanding guide, he led customers to prime fishing spots and the best places to get pearls. Known throughout the islands for his skills, intelligence, and savvy, Johnny was also one of the sharpest traders around. He got customers great deals, but always seemed to make the best deals for himself.

Now, the prodigal son had returned...to look for a bride, no less! The local customs demanded dowries for wives. A dowry of two or three cows would net a fair wife and four or five cows would fetch a very nice one. Johnny, everyone knew, would buy the most beautiful woman in the village, because Johnny Lingo could afford a FIVE COW woman!

The village gossip, who happened to be the shopkeeper's helper, couldnt wait to tell his boss the latest dirt. "I heard," he told Mr. Shopkeeper, "That Johnny Lingo is looking for a bargain. I heard he is going to ask for Mahana's hand in marriage."

"MAHANA?" Mr. Shopkeeper laughed. "Why, you'd be lucky to get two horns and a tail for that girl!" Mahana is ugly

When we first see Mahanawho is high in a tree, hiding behind its huge, tropical leaveswere presented with a girl whos more ordinary than ugly,. Her father, though, saw only a hunched and timid burden, scared of her own shadow. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to marry her off. His advisor--an old man with outrageous hair--urged him to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny would pay only one. "I'll be lucky to get a cow that gives sour milk in trade for her," her father laments to the elder.

The next morning at the bridal auction Mahana was still sitting in the tree. Johnny Lingo bought her anyway, making island history in the process. "I will pay eight cows for your Mahana," Johnny tells her father.

"Eight ... cows?" the dad asked, flabbergasted.

"Eight cows?" Mr. Shopkeeper gasped in amazement. Eight was unprecedented. It must be some kind of mistake." However, true to his word, Johnny delivered the cows himself to seal the deal. Before the wedding, Johnny came to the shop to order a wedding presenta golden, hand-held mirror.

The marriage ceremony was a nightmare for Mahana. All her neighbors showed up to eat free roast pig and tease her. Humiliated, she endured the ordeal with a wilting crown of flowers on her head. While the mocking crowd danced to Johnnys folly, the new couple quietly retreated to another island. Everyone, including the viewer, is left completely mystified.

One day, several months later, Mr. Shopkeeper went to find Johnny Lingo, who never returned to pick up the costly mirror hed ordered. Arriving at the hut, he was greeted by Johnny and Mahana. But Mahana had changed. No longer a fretful, depressed girl with mottled hair, she was now a lively, gracious woman, glowing in a tight red dress, a large hibiscus framing her lovely face. Mr. Shopkeeper's jaw dropped. What...Shes beautiful!

Once Mahana was out of earshot, Johnny answered, "I have loved Mahana since we were children." "She was always beautiful to me.

The shopkeeper still struggled to understand. Yes, but how...what did you do?

Johnny said, "Think about how it must make a girl feel to know her husband paid a very low dowry for her. How must she feel when the other women boast about the high prices their husbands paid for them? It must be embarrassing for her. This could not happen to my Mahana."

"I was wrong about you, Johnny, the shopkeeper confessed. I thought you paid eight cows to impress your friends, but you wanted to make Mahana happy."

"More than happy, Johnny beamed. I wanted Mahana to be an eight-cow woman." Many things can make a woman beautiful, but the thing that matters most is how she views herself.

I see, said the shopkeeper. In her fathers hut Mahana believed she was worth nothing.

Now, finished a proud Johnny Lingo, She knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands.

The story of Johnny Lingo shows the value you put on others greatly affects the way they value themselves. This really hit home for me a couple of years later.

No Broken Horses

In the course of requesting a job reference, Id found out that my former supervisor, one Bill W., had recently died. Though I didn't know him long, I liked Bill. I respected his warm earthiness, his everyman charm. He was a kind, mellow man who handled crisis with an aplomb most can only dream of possessing. He worked hard to stay out of the spotlight, and harder to put others in it.

Our former employer had fired Bill because he was too slow and indecisive. How was it that a man whod had two exemplary careers as a fire-jumper and military analyst and had enjoyed a long and successful career at other institutions come to us only to disappoint? Amazingly, his bosses did not ask this question. They found it easier to blame him and his former employers for duplicity. He was gone within months.

There was more to his story than mere incompetence, however. You see, Bill was sick, the kind of sick that affects ones performance. We had the same doctor who once marveled aloud at how Bill was able to function at all. Bill hesitated sharing his condition because he did not want to be labeled as weak. They already dont have faith in me, he confided.

The reality is that we got what we expected. We assumed that he was looking for a place to go to pasture and interviewed him only after all of the superior prospects didnt work out. We werent ready to look for a better candidate, but unwilling to make the best with the one we selected. We expected a one-cow employee. After thirty years of exemplary service, Bill obliged and turned in a one cow performance.

Fortunately he nailed one last assignmenta return to a former employer that hed left a dozen years earlier. I inquired about what happened at his final employer. The decisive leader who was described to me was nothing like the broken and disgraced one who left our employ. His colleagues welcomed him with open arms and great anticipation. He contributed as a respected member of their team until his death two years later. What was different? Surely it helped that he addressed his health concerns before he left our cityand what a difference it made! However, something else even more essential was at play. Bill simply rose to the expectations placed on him.

I'm glad to have known Bill and happy he made his transition where he was roundly loved and respected. I believe his return to a place that valued him lengthened his sadly truncated life.

How many times do we miss the opportunity to really see the Bills of our world? How many times do we refuse to ask the right questions, choosing condemnation over compassion? Mark Nepo, in his book, The Exquisite Risk: Daring to Live an Authentic Life, eloquently explains why this happens all too often in our homes, jobs, and communities:

"Folklore has it that if a horse breaks a leg, it must be put down. I've discovered that this isn't true. Oh it's true that it happens. Breeders shoot horses with broken legs, as if there's nothing to be done. But now I know they do this for themselves, not wanting to care for a horse that cannot run. In just this way, fearful and selfish people cut the cord to those who are broken, not wanting to sit with a friend who can't find tomorrow, not wanting to be saddled with someone who will slow them down, not wanting to face what is broken within themselves. In this lies the challenge of compassion. For when we dare to hold those forced to the ground, dare to hold them close, the truth of holding and listening sings and we are carried into the wisdom of broken bones and how things heal. These are the quite braveries we all need: The courage to wait and watch with ALL of who we are...the courage to care for things that are broken... The practice ground for these braveries is always the small things at hand. Somehow, through the practice of doing small things with great love... we learn to be brave."

A Powerful Principle

As a general rule, people respond according to the value you place on them. This principle isnt limited to grade-schoolers and Polynesian brides. Think about the value you put on people. Now think about your words and actions. Do your words and actions make others feel theyre worthwhile or worthless? Would those with whom you relate have a better chance of feeling valued if they were in your presence or far away from you? What would happen if you traded negative, judgment-ridden language for a positive and affirming dialect?

Troubled kid? Find and encourage the potential in her. That has been at work? Seek insight and guidance from his experience. Your unfulfilling relationship? Remember why you two fell in love in the first place.

We have an incredible power to influence the esteem of others. Your expectations and expressions can make or break spirit; destroy or transform communities. Honor that power by honoring the worth of others. You might end up with a ten-cow life.