What’s In A Name?

I went to school with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Mike (“Mike” was an assumed name).
I was the ethnic outsider in this high school. My name is Nancy, which I never thought it fit me: to fluffy. I probably was the only Nancy anyone in this gigantic school had ever met.
George and Abe were in my English class and whenever we had a substitute of my color, there was an invisible twitter running through the class. The excitement silently mounted during instruction and class work, and when we passed our papers forward it became brittle with its containment.
The poor sub would scan through the collected papers handed to her by the first kid in each row and at row three she said angrily, “Who wrote ‘Abraham Lincoln’ on his paper?” and everyone shifted in their chairs. Abe raised his hand.
“OK,” she said, “What’s your real name?” and Abe answered her honestly. When she couldn’t get him to lie she sent him to the office.
If the class had been a damn, it would have sprung a few tiny leaks, but the giggles were contained until she got to the last, my row, and the sub found George Washington was also in the class.
“Give me your name!” she said angrily and posed a pencil above his paper to correct the injustice to her dignity. George knew how to milk the scenario, so he patiently and quietly repeated his name the four times he was asked again, and was sent to the office
Now our class squirmed waiting for the punchline to walk in. Five minutes later we exploded when both boys returned, handing a note to the sub and soberly took their seats. We all exploded again.
Mike was an ethnic minority too, but of a different name- giving heritage. I was shocked to see what I thought was a phony name on his paper; Hector. In fact he had a string of names and I remember the first three were Hector, Miguel, and Louise. These were the inspiration for the plot and the roster’s name in my book, Chickens in Birthday Suits.
My friend, Jillian, named her chickens; Tawni Alice, Cherry Blossom, Emma Evangeline, and Zoey Lorain and gave each chicken her own birthday party on, what I call, their hatch days. Read the book ‘Chickens In Birthday Suits’ and let me know what you think.  nancymauerman.com

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