What’s in a name? Only in America!
By Mila Glodava
The other day, our receptionist announced that I had a call. Then, with an impish smile on her face, she said, “She called you Mila Cadaver.”
Over the years since I came to the United States, I’d have to deal with Americans unable to pronounce my married name – Mila Glodava. Certainly, there’s nothing to it, because it’s very phonetic. Right? Well, not exactly. I’ve been called Milo Globdivitch and Mila Godiva (yes, the famous chocolate). Also, because people can’t figure out the gender of my name and because I work for the church, I’ve been addressed as Rev. Milagros Glodova.
I’m known among my friends simply as Mila, which is pronounced with a long (e). Still, some pronounce it with the long (i) as in Maila. Others change it to Melia. Those from Europe tend to add the letter (r) as in Millar or Miller. Sometimes they are so frustrated pronouncing my name, they just ask for the foreign lady. Can you imagine if they have to call me by my formal name -- Milagros Garcia Glodava y Coronel?
And to think that my name, before I got married, is probably the most common in the Philippines. The combination of Mila and Glodava, however, has made it one of the most uncommon or hard-to-pronounce and mispelled names. It’s also mistaken for Russian, Ukrainian or Yugoslav.
One time I received a phone call from a total stranger who went through the trouble of finding me, after he saw my name in the local paper. He was intrigued by my name and wanted to know its origin. He thought it sounded Spanish, but then noticed my Filipino accent and was confused. In case you’re wondering, Glodava is Polish or Slovak in origin. The Polish and Slovak I’ve encountered immediately recognize it as one of them, and even inform me of the location where the Glodava’s resided in the old country.
On another occasion, someone came to a presentation I was giving at a conference, because she thought I was Yugoslavian. It was, of course, a big surprise for her when I was called and realized I was not the compatriot, she would have been very proud to have as a speaker. She was gracious to me nonetheless.
In America, immigrants have an opportunity to change names when they become U.S. citizens. The judge, who presided over my citizenship oath taking, asked me if I wanted to change my name. I said no. Early Filipino immigrants, though, took advantage of this privilege. Thus, Casimiro Bukingkikaw chose Cashmere Bouquet; Rolando Policarpio opted for Roly Poly.
Only in America!