Today is the Melissa’s Road Race in Banff. I’m not running it this year, but we’re still going to be in Banff, cheering on our son, Greg, our daughter, Kaitlyn, and Greg’s brother-in-law, Sus. It doesn’t seem so long ago that our kids, too small to enter this race, were there cheering me on. Now, one full circle later, I get to cheer as they compete.
This is an absolute favourite race of mine. Every part of the day is fantastic, from getting up in the dark to make the trip into the mountains, watching as the first rays of the sun illuminate those majestic rocks in the west, to parking and listening to the racers as they try to stay warm and strategize their race, to cheering as the runners pass by on the road, to listening to the announcer as each runners name is announced as they cross the finish line, to sitting on the grass post-race, listening to the live music provided. I love it all; every last second of it.
I think if I was put under a tremendous amount of pressure and asked to give my absolute most favourite time of this day, I would have to say it is listening to the announcer at the finish line, welcoming each finisher by name over the loudspeaker. I always have to fight back tears at this part.
When I was running, there was something so validating about this moment; this moment when each of us who were participating, were simply noticed, and named. I often crossed the finish line with tears in my eyes. Many people mistakenly thought I must be either hurt, or simply so glad to be done. But neither of these were true. I loved the running part of running. But I really loved something about that name-calling part.
Greg and Cara were telling us that when they went to Penticton to cheer on their friend, Derrek, in the Ironman Canada competition last summer, they were brought to tears at the finish line too. In that competition, as each finisher approached the finish line the announcer boomed, “(the competitors name). YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN.” I have never seen this particular race, but I can imagine the emotion here, the emotion of the competitors as their months of training are realized in success, the emotion of their supporters as they celebrate the victory of a loved one, and the emotion of simply being noticed and named.
When we arrived into this world, each of us were noticed, and named by our parents. The noticing and naming were given in love. Our names were said so preciously those first times, as those already inhabiting our world got used to saying it, and as we learned to associate it with ourselves. I was bestowed the name Elizabeth, after Sister St. Elizabeth, my mother’s favourite teacher, who happened to be a nun. For all my elementary school days I was only called Elizabeth. In fact, my mother forbade me to answer to anything else. The only exception was that my brother, Daniel, just a couple of years younger than me, could not manage the whole mouthful of my name so he called me Littlebit. Eventually Dad joined in and Littlebit stuck; but just with Dad. My brother eventually mastered the full four syllables, and fell in line with everyone else.
I think this emphasis on my name, made me sensitive to the names of others. I became a noticer.
When I was teaching school, I had a little ritual I performed about eight times each day. On the first day of classes I would ask each student which name they preferred to be called, and I used it from then on. Then, at the beginning of each class, as each new group of students would enter my classroom for their math lesson, I would stand at the door, just outside of the classroom and welcome them each by name. ‘Good to see you Jasmine, good morning Rob, I’m glad you’re back Jackson, how are you feeling Emma?’, and so on. I always thought it was important that each of them knew they were noticed and heard their name spoken in welcome at least one time in each day.
These days I have many names; Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie, Mom, Aunt Liz, Aunt Elizabeth, Gramma, Seven, Mrs. Critchley, and even Lizard, by one dear friend who finds it to be hilarious. It has been rumoured I have a strict preference for Elizabeth. Like with most rumours, this one has no basis in truth. I’ve often been asked what I prefer, and I’m always a bit baffled. I just don’t know what I prefer. Actually, what I do know is this; I prefer to be called the name that most sounds like love when spoken by whomever is talking to me. For my sisters, that would be Elizabeth. For my brothers, it’s most often Liz. For Jim’s family, it’s Liz, or Aunt Liz. In my family there is a mixture of Aunt Liz and Aunt Elizabeth. I, like everyone else, simply want to be noticed and named.
Most of the lessons I learned in school have provided me with a sound guide for how to live my life. But one of the lessons we were taught was to NOT name call, and this is a rule I freely break, and rebelliously encourage others to break also. It’s important that we not only name call, but that we do so in a way that allows others to feel noticed, named and loved.
On Saturday I’m going to practice some name calling in Banff. I’ll even be loud. I hope you too find some time in this upcoming week to do some loving name calling of your own.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is my name calling?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to name call.
This is an absolute favourite race of mine. Every part of the day is fantastic, from getting up in the dark to make the trip into the mountains, watching as the first rays of the sun illuminate those majestic rocks in the west, to parking and listening to the racers as they try to stay warm and strategize their race, to cheering as the runners pass by on the road, to listening to the announcer as each runners name is announced as they cross the finish line, to sitting on the grass post-race, listening to the live music provided. I love it all; every last second of it.
I think if I was put under a tremendous amount of pressure and asked to give my absolute most favourite time of this day, I would have to say it is listening to the announcer at the finish line, welcoming each finisher by name over the loudspeaker. I always have to fight back tears at this part.
When I was running, there was something so validating about this moment; this moment when each of us who were participating, were simply noticed, and named. I often crossed the finish line with tears in my eyes. Many people mistakenly thought I must be either hurt, or simply so glad to be done. But neither of these were true. I loved the running part of running. But I really loved something about that name-calling part.
Greg and Cara were telling us that when they went to Penticton to cheer on their friend, Derrek, in the Ironman Canada competition last summer, they were brought to tears at the finish line too. In that competition, as each finisher approached the finish line the announcer boomed, “(the competitors name). YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN.” I have never seen this particular race, but I can imagine the emotion here, the emotion of the competitors as their months of training are realized in success, the emotion of their supporters as they celebrate the victory of a loved one, and the emotion of simply being noticed and named.
When we arrived into this world, each of us were noticed, and named by our parents. The noticing and naming were given in love. Our names were said so preciously those first times, as those already inhabiting our world got used to saying it, and as we learned to associate it with ourselves. I was bestowed the name Elizabeth, after Sister St. Elizabeth, my mother’s favourite teacher, who happened to be a nun. For all my elementary school days I was only called Elizabeth. In fact, my mother forbade me to answer to anything else. The only exception was that my brother, Daniel, just a couple of years younger than me, could not manage the whole mouthful of my name so he called me Littlebit. Eventually Dad joined in and Littlebit stuck; but just with Dad. My brother eventually mastered the full four syllables, and fell in line with everyone else.
I think this emphasis on my name, made me sensitive to the names of others. I became a noticer.
When I was teaching school, I had a little ritual I performed about eight times each day. On the first day of classes I would ask each student which name they preferred to be called, and I used it from then on. Then, at the beginning of each class, as each new group of students would enter my classroom for their math lesson, I would stand at the door, just outside of the classroom and welcome them each by name. ‘Good to see you Jasmine, good morning Rob, I’m glad you’re back Jackson, how are you feeling Emma?’, and so on. I always thought it was important that each of them knew they were noticed and heard their name spoken in welcome at least one time in each day.
These days I have many names; Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie, Mom, Aunt Liz, Aunt Elizabeth, Gramma, Seven, Mrs. Critchley, and even Lizard, by one dear friend who finds it to be hilarious. It has been rumoured I have a strict preference for Elizabeth. Like with most rumours, this one has no basis in truth. I’ve often been asked what I prefer, and I’m always a bit baffled. I just don’t know what I prefer. Actually, what I do know is this; I prefer to be called the name that most sounds like love when spoken by whomever is talking to me. For my sisters, that would be Elizabeth. For my brothers, it’s most often Liz. For Jim’s family, it’s Liz, or Aunt Liz. In my family there is a mixture of Aunt Liz and Aunt Elizabeth. I, like everyone else, simply want to be noticed and named.
Most of the lessons I learned in school have provided me with a sound guide for how to live my life. But one of the lessons we were taught was to NOT name call, and this is a rule I freely break, and rebelliously encourage others to break also. It’s important that we not only name call, but that we do so in a way that allows others to feel noticed, named and loved.
On Saturday I’m going to practice some name calling in Banff. I’ll even be loud. I hope you too find some time in this upcoming week to do some loving name calling of your own.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is my name calling?’
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to name call.
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