As we were unpacking some of her grandmother's ceramic dishes and kitchen platters yesterday, Andrea showed me tiny initials etched into the bottom of each piece. These aren't the ceramicists' initials. The pieces were all signed by the artists who made them. The initials belong to Andrea's grandmother herself, who announced ownership of serving vessels by carving her own initials next to the artists'. If we name and christen yachts, why not gravy boats?
I asked if grandmother had grown up during the Depression. Yes, she had.
Both my mother and father, products of the Great Depression, have a tendency to sign their initials or names on items that belong to them. All of my mother's books--like the high school English Lit textbook she saved and gave to me--have her name written in perfect cursive inside the front covers. My dad once wrote his last name on every golf club head cover in his set, and also on the outside of the bag. He often wrote his name on the underside of baseball cap bills or inside golf hats (to say nothing of his more humorous habit of writing "front" and "back" on the appropriate ends of his golf hats--on the OUTSIDE--so he could put them on quickly and correctly). My sister and brother-in-law gave him an expensive silver lighter one year for his birthday, before he quit smoking. Within minutes of unwrapping it, he was in his workroom etching tiny initials--NTW--into it with a nail. It never occurred to him to have it engraved professionally, much to my sister's chagrin. My mother puts her name on umbrella handles, her initials on magazines she lends to friends.
So what is this near-obsession with laying claim to things? Maybe it's the consequence of having very little in the first place and working damn hard for what you do have. Whatever the reason, it makes me think: What if we were as eager to initial our thoughts and actions? What if after every human interaction we had to take an indelible marker that writes on air and scribble our monikers on the moment? What if each time I accidentally dinged someone's car door with my own, I had to write my name beside the dent? What if we had to initial mean-spirited thoughts and hang them on our heads, or--if they're about other people--write them down, sign them, and give them to the people about whom we are thinking them? What if every person who walks by a homeless person or zooms past a stray dog on the side of the road had to sign his or her name on the body of the one in need? What if when you're too lazy to return the grocery story cart and you leave it in a parking space, you have to tie a tag around it that bears your signature?
There's something about writing it down--even if only metaphorically--that makes something more real. My mom probably thinks writing her initials on the bottom of a table lamp makes it more "hers." Once when I was teaching college writing, a student in my class muttered "faggot." I don't even remember if it was about a classmate or a character in a book we were reading. But my reaction was to have him--and every student who giggled about it--get out a piece of paper and write down every derogatory term they could think of for races and classes and types of people. Then they had to sign their names and hand it in. I explained that I didn't want terms they used or condoned, just ones they'd heard or seen in the course of their lives.
They refused at first. They were mortified. They said that writing it down made it permanent and made them feel like they "meant it more" and that if they signed it I would have it in my files and . . . My point exactly.
So, here's to Andrea's grandmother and my parents and the idea of initialing everything--laying claim. While using a Sharpie to sign a coffee mug might be a little silly, I'm going to see what it's like to sign metaphorically everything I do and think for a while. Maybe I'll be a better person.
