THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, August 14, 1994 TAG: 9408120246
SECTION: SUFFOLK SUN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Susie Stoughton
LENGTH: Medium: 74 lines
Try as I may, I just can't seem to teach people my name.
``Stoughton,'' I tell them, `` `Stough,' like dough.''
They just don't get it. It's like a foreign word or something.
After more than two years, my mother still hasn't figured it out. Some of my best friends continue to mispronounce it.
But then, the English language is murder on ``ough.'' It can be ``o'' like though or dough; ``uff'' like tough or rough; ``ow'' like bough; or ``off'' like cough. Then there's ``aw'' like thought. No wonder people are confused.
Say the name and people look at you blankly, unable to comprehend it. ``Spell it,'' they say.
When I met my future husband, he told me his name, and I said, ``Oh, is that S-t-o-t-e-n?'' Patiently, he spelled it, ``S-t-o-u-g-h-t-o-n.''
When someone reads it, they usually stumble over it, trying to pronounce it, or they just assume it's ``Stout-on,'' pronounced like ``out.''
No, it's ``Stought,'' like ``float'' - with a long ``o.''
``We're the `Floatin' Stoughtons,' '' I said one day as my husband and I were reclining on inner tubes. He thought I had flipped.
Our mail comes addressed to Slaughten, Stroughton, Stockton, Stokes and everything in between.
Anyone with an unusual moniker can sympathize.
Not long ago, I was looking for some information about an upcoming event and called a Suffolk newcomer named Lynn. She wasn't the person I needed, but we had a lively conversation before she told me whom to call.
Finally, I asked her last name. ``Well,'' she hesitated. ``Can you spell?''
Sure, I replied.
``OK,'' she said. ``It's capital L, e, capital M, o, n.''
``LeMon,'' she accented the second syllable. ``Not Lemon. Not LeMond.''
She's had a hard time in the few years she's had the name. I told her I understood. Then she asked my last name, so I spelled it for her. ``Oh, Stoughton,'' she said, pronouncing it correctly.
``Wow,'' I said. ``You must be from Massachusetts.''
Sure enough, she was. People there are often familiar with the town of Stoughton - pronounced ``Stought-on'' like ``floatin' .''
Once, LeMon said she blurted out, ``Just write `Lemon,' '' when someone asked her name. Sometimes it's just easier to say it wrong.
My husband and I were visiting a relative in a hospital once, and he told the receptionist, ``Stoughton,'' pronouncing it ``Stout-on.''
Mispronounce it, he told me as we rode the elevator, and people visualize it. But say it correctly, they'll ask you to repeat it, then spell it.
Say it wrong, and they get it on the first try.
Several months ago, another Stoughton came to work at the newspaper, and I thought that would help people learn the name. Now they just confuse the two of us, still mispronouncing our last name.
I usually tell people just to ask for ``Susie'' when they call and not to worry about the last name. ``Is that S-u-z-i?'' they want to know.
The other Stoughton, who's no relation that we know of, vows she's going to marry a Smith or Jones, just to make life easier. Try Jones, I said, or you could be Smyth or Smythe.
My daughter has also had some headaches with her name - Katherine Pearson. People try to shorten it to Pearce or spell it Pierson.
In college, she roomed next to a girl from Richmond with the same name - same spelling, same pronunciation. Neither had a nickname, so only their middle names separated them. My daughter's was McBryde, not McBride. The other Katherine's was Thomas - for her father, who shares the name with my daughter's father.
Now, my daughter has solved at least one of her name problems. On Saturday, she married her high-school sweetheart, Steve, whose first name is Steven - not Stephen, and whose last name is Wright.
At least now, people will be able to say her name ``Wright.'' by CNB