C is for Cummins
Me stirring the copper kettle at an annual Cummins (Cummunnnsz) Apple Butter Day
This writing came from a prompt that came from a list of prompts I created (see last week’s blog post) via the random alphabet method. So you can see that it CAN be done.
C is for Cummins. My last name. So easy to mispronounce. So easy to spell incorrectly. So I’m always spelling it out and saying it with an emphasis on the “unnnsz” at the end. Putting an emphasis on sz. Which is so much less satisfying than the ring of “eengz” as in “Cummings” with a G.
My uncle, Howard, repeatedly taught us the proper way to say our name. It wasn’t COME-eengz. It was COME-unnsz. All of us cousins learned to linger on the unnsz like an instrument in the orchestra holding the note longer than called for. COME-unnnnnnnsz. A plea, an apology. But also a point of pride.
We weren’t those common COME-eengzes. We were COME-unnszes. And there was a difference, whether people wanted to acquiesce to the correct pronunciation or not. It was required that the name be correct in print – or else something would go wrong at the medical lab or the social security office. This meant relaying one’s name and its spelling with care.
Just like today when I was at the DMV. I go into these situations knowing that honey catches flies and when I got up to the counter, I quickly looked around for a way to connect with the human being behind the glass. I complimented the clerk on her Halloween-themed sweater. Then when she asked for my name, I gave her firm eye contact and said, “It's Cynthia C-Y-N-T-H-I-A.” (Because some people get that wrong.) Then I said, “Last name Cummins. C-U-M-M-I-N-S, no G in Cummins.”
By the pursing or her faded lips I could see she was disapproving of me – thinking I was all bumptious like she couldn’t spell for shit. So, I said, “You would be surprised at how many people get that wrong! Almost everyone adds a G!” When she didn’t reply, I continued, “Or they ask me if I’m related to the Cumminses as in Cummins Diesel. Ha ha. I wish! Ha ha. I wish I was one of the Cummins Diesel Cumminses!”
She was handing me my receipt and had clicked her mouse so that the next-up screen was showing B-013 instead of my B-012 and the disembodied female DMV voice was saying “Customer B Zero One Nine to Window 4.” Cummins or Cummings didn’t matter. I’d gotten what I wanted and I was out the door.
