It's "plass-koh-ness"

I'd say that both my first and middle name have little to no significance.  My first name was given to me because it started with a "P" (just like my last name!) while both of my grandmothers have the middle name "Louise."

That's nothing too special.  My last name, the one my parents didn't choose, has more history.

Once upon a time (80 years ago, give or take a few years) my great-grandfather and his wife and kids moved from the Ukraine to the United States.  My great-grandfather and his "Plaskonos-posse" were immigrating with a group of people from Greece.  As a result, the customs officials thought my great-grandfather's last name was Greek, and thus, spelled it (phonetically) incorrectly.

You see, before my ancestors moved to the United States, our last name was pronounced "vlass-koh-niece" (fun fact: it is literally translated to "flat nose").  The customs official responsible for the papers for immigration spelled it as "plass-koh-nohs."  Currently, my family says it as "plas-koh-ness" to preserve at least a part of the original pronunciation (the "niece" piece).

To be honest, it's awesome having a last name that no one (I know) else has, but it's kind of a double-edged sword.  On one end I'm thinking "Woah it's so unique and cool!" and on the other I'm thinking "No one knows how to say it without help, and that's annoying."  I usually ask my friends to call my dad "Mr. Plaz" or "Mr. P" just so I don't have to correct them.

When I was younger, I used to be upset when people said my last name incorrectly.  Now, I've given up on correcting people when pronouncing "Plaskonos" incorrectly, but if someone asks how to say it, they will say it correctly by the time I'm done with them.

These are just a few mis-pronunciations that I've heard:

• Plass-kah-nohs (this is very common, but where does the extra "a" sound come from?)
• Plass-kin-nohs
• Plus-kah-niss
• Plus-kin-ows
• Plass-koh-nass

(This is especially annoying when my close friends have no idea how to say my surname.)

I'd rather have a last name that sounds cool, has history, but not difficult to say.  "Smith" and "Scott" would be too simple.  Something along the lines of "Genesky," or "Franch," would be ideal.

Even though my last name is difficult to pronounce, I still want to keep it through marriage.  My surname helps keep me rooted to my identity; why would I get rid of something I use to identify myself?

I am Paige Plaskonos.  I am a part of a family, a team, and a school.  I struggle with a question:  is it more important that I define myself as an individual or a part of a whole?  Let's take a step back: in order to retain my individuality between social circumstances, I try to remain the same person between each group.  Constant, if you will.  I don't make an attempt to be "fake," but I want people to like me, so I socially adapt.  If socially adapting makes me fake, so be it.

By subjecting oneself to a group, a person is stripped of his or her identity.  This person is now labelled, and instead of celebrating what makes this person unique, we now celebrate what he or she is a part of.  We begin to celebrate parts instead of wholes.  What I find interesting, is each person wants to be the same and simultaneously stand out.  You can be the same by being a part of a group, but you can only stand out by what separates you from the group.  What makes you unique, defines you.

Everyday We're Othering

Wing Young Huie, 2012, Chicago Avenue, South Minneapolis, MN
http://know.wingyounghuie.com/image/25321609633

At first glance, it is noticed that this is an image of a dilapidated American flag.  The flag is torn, well-worn, and slightly pellucid.  The sky is bleak, meaning that is cloudy and a little gloomy.  The house on the left is yellow and appears to be in a well-kept condition.  In addition, the tree on the right side of the image appears healthy, as it has a plethora of leaves that are all green.  Based on the observations from above, it can be concluded that this is someone’s front yard.

Upon further examination, the presence of the dilapidated flag is surprising.  Both the house and the tree appear to be in good condition, so why wouldn’t the flag be?  Also, the American flag is a symbol for American freedoms and liberties.  The fact that it is broken down and slightly translucent in this image shows the photographer’s perspective of America not being as perfect as we all pretend it to be.  The house and other visible property being in good condition implies that the flag was intentionally left out of there to give a silent protest against the extreme nationalism present in our country. 

By protesting the society, the person who owns the flag is “othering” his or herself.  It is considered the norm to respect and almost worship our society, and this flag-bearer is doing the complete opposite, making him or her stand out.  There are traditions set by the military or precedent, and the flag waving in its beaten down state defies those precedents.  Another way to view this image is the photographer trying to make the government seem like the others.  The star “strangled” banner could be a symbol of how messed up the government is.

Offred, in The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood, “othered” herself, similar to this photograph, by implying she was the only “unbeliever” in her area.  An unbeliever is someone who does not believe in how the government is running the society. Being an “unbeliever” was a crime in the time of Gilead, and coming out as an unbeliever resulted in extreme punishment.  Dissimilar to Gilead, modern America allows for its citizens to protest the way in which it is run.  Being an “other” is also a little bit more celebrated in the United States, as we have all kinds of celebrations, for example, gay pride parades.  Both Atwood and the photographer created bleak images, either through words or through a photograph.