The other day, a former colleague sent me a link to a paper that he and a partner had just gotten published in a journal. I read through the paper and, for some reason, even the acknowledgements section, pausing on one name. Because the person's last name was that of a friend and the first name was so close to my friend's first name, I wondered whether the author had intended to refer to my friend or to someone else with a similar name. It turns out that he had meant to acknowledge the contribution of my friend but had misspelled her first name; he immediately undertook to have the name corrected in the online paper.

Today, my friend wrote to thank me for noticing the misspelling of her name, which the author had told her about and had already rectified. She said to me:

I often find myself reflecting on how often a correction in spelling my name is in order and know that it happens to many people. When I am the one misspelling a name or asking how to pronounce it, I see it as an opportunity to learn more about another culture as it signals to me that I have a gap in (a) seeing one name could have many variations in different cultures/languages, (b) how names that are popular in certain cultures could be a reflection of a people’s struggle/journey/aspirations and leaders in that community, and (c) that learning of new names opens the door to better understanding where my colleagues/acquaintances/neighbours, etc., are coming from both figuratively and literally.

My friend is right: there are many spellings of the same name. Sometimes the variations are reflective of different cultures; other times, different preferences. Some examples: Stefania instead of Stephanie, Priscila instead of Priscilla, Patrycja instead of Patricia, Jesica instead of Jessica, Bryan instead of Brian. 'Tis not for me to ask why. 'Tis for me to learn and apply.

In replying to my friend, I shared a little history that explains my obsession with getting names right.

When I studied journalism at Carleton University, if you misspelled someone's name in your article, you got an automatic F. When the prof behind the policy explained it to us, I cheekily asked, "How will you know the name is spelled incorrectly?" The prof replied, "If you spell a name two different ways in the same piece, one of them is wrong."

It was harsh punishment, but it was effective. It wasn't a surprise when it happened because the prof had forewarned us, but it stung nonetheless. I never made the error but I had classmates who did, and they were usually devastated. It was like all their work had been for nought. Whether receiving the dreaded F personally or witnessing the impact of the failing grade on a colleague, we all learned to proofread the names in our writing.

To this day, when I make an error in someone's name, I tell myself: "automatic F."

I came to understand that correctly spelling and pronouncing someone's name is a matter of respect. That's not to say that an occasional misspelling or mispronunciation of another person's name causes irreparable harm. Like others, I have fallen victim to autocorrect and to forgetting how to pronounce a name that is unfamiliar to me. But repeated errors, especially after someone has corrected me, would make me look like I just didn't care.

A dozen years ago, I published a guest post in my blog Café Jen by a coworker whose name was frequently mispronounced. "What's in a name?" Tariq asked. "For me, probably more than you realize," he replied.

To help his colleagues pronounce his name correctly, he posted a page outside his office, which was partly fun and partly serious. The page contained these helpful hints:

Proper pronunciation of Tariq

The first syllable "Tar" is pronounced like this: car, tarmac, tartar, tarantula, tardy, target.

The second syllable "iq" (like Rick, tick, sick, chick.)

He wrote in his guest post:

Despite posting this outside my cubicle and drawing people’s attention to it, there were a few people who never got it right. Instead, they continued to refer to me as "Tear-rick" or "Tah-reek".... I think my experience is related more to effort, mindfulness and respect than it is to the supposed difficulty of my name. In other words, if you’re not pronouncing it right after being corrected, it is because it doesn’t matter to you. It matters to me. What’s worse is that once I’ve corrected people on how to pronounce it properly, some people will occasionally mispronounce it on purpose in an attempt to be funny. It’s not funny.

He explained why his name, and its proper pronunciation, mattered to him. He noted that he is half Pakistani, something he said few people would know given that he looks Caucasian, doesn't speak Urdu, was raised in Canada as a Roman Catholic rather than a Muslim, and speaks with a Canadian accent. He explained:

I have few connections to my Pakistani side. My father passed away in 2006, so I feel like my connection is weaker still. Except for my name. It is the one visible identifier I have that connects me to him.... When someone mispronounces my name out of laziness, they are, in effect, dismissing who I am. When someone makes light of the mispronunciation of my name, they are, in effect, dismissing who I am.

It's not that Tariq expected perfection from his colleagues. It was the effort that mattered. He concluded his post with these words:

I’m not calling out any particular individuals. I’m not asking people to tiptoe around me. I’m not asking that you get my name exactly correct the first time, or all the time. I recognize that some people I know have another friend named Tariq who pronounces it differently. It’s natural that there will sometimes be a mix-up. I don’t want anyone to feel like they are in danger of offending me at any given moment. I don’t even need an apology if someone mispronounces my name. If you don't know how, just ask. I’m just asking that people be mindful and make an effort. Tar like car. iq like Rick. Tariq. It really is that simple.

Proper pronunciation and spelling is easier when our hearts are in it.

Last May, Dr. Shola Mos-Shogbamimu, a lawyer, activist and political commentator, appeared on a BBC program during which the host struggled to pronounce her name. Journalist Dawn Neesom introduced her guest as Dr. Shola, then asked the lawyer to pronounce her own name. "Read it, my darling, read it," Mos-Shogbamimu insisted. After another failed attempt, Mos-Shogbamimu said, "Go back and start again. Phonetically." Neesom tried to move on, reasoning, "Oh come on, I got the Shola right." But Mos-Shogbamimu didn't let Neesom off the hook, saying "No, you will say my name. Now, read it phonetically."

Neesom would have benefited from a little trick we learned in journalism school: to include the phonetic spelling of names in a text to be read by someone not familiar with the names. After Tariq's name, for example, the reader might find [TAR-ick]. Throughout my career, I used this technique in speeches that I approved for others to deliver, such as a Deputy Minister or Minister. It was a way of showing respect not only for the person named in the speech but for the person delivering it as well.

Despite my commitment and my efforts, I still make mistakes with names: misspelling them, mispronouncing them, misremembering them. But I keep trying because I know how important a person's name is to them.