I teach the 11-year-olds in Primary.  They’re a lively, vibrant bunch of individuals.  Each has his or her own unique personality, endearing qualities, and sometimes irritating personality quirks.  It has taken a little time to get to know them, but I now truly love each one.  They’re some of my best friends.

As I sit with all of the Primary children in opening exercises and in sharing time, I wince whenever a child is called by a sibling’s name or by no name at all because the leader can’t think of it.  I’m of the opinion that everyone in a class, a schoolroom, an organization, or a ward ought to know and use the names of every other individual.

My sister-in-law once attended church in her daughter’s ward.  As she and a little grandson walked together down the hallway, she was greatly impressed that every adult and youth that they passed greeted the boy by name.  She felt very comforted knowing that everyone in that ward knew and cared about her little grandson.  She felt that her family was in good hands, and that they couldn’t help but succeed.

Janette C. Hales, former general president of the Young Women, gave this challenge:  “Now, to every adult member of the Church, may I suggest that you learn the names of the young people in your ward or branch and call them by name.  Encourage them in their work efforts.  Recognize them for the good things they do.  They need our support, and we need theirs.”  (The Ensign, May 1992, pg. 80).

That’s good counsel.

My nephew’s wife bought a horse with a story behind it.  For two years the horse had been ridden and trained by its former owner.  He called the horse Ugly Jack.  Ugly Jack wasn’t much of a horse.  He walked with his head down, was sluggish, and wasn’t responsive and obedient.  One day as they were riding along, a powerful thought came to my nephew out of nowhere.  Acting on the impulse he said to the horse, “How are you today, Handsome Jack?  From now on I’m going to call you Handsome Jack.”  A dramatic and immediate change came over the horse.  His head jerked up, and he stepped out.  My nephew and his wife have ridden the horse for several years now, and not once has his head ever been down.

In telling this story, my nephew reported having read an Israeli study about dairy cows.  The study found that when cows were given names, and were called by their names, they gave 400 liters more milk in a year than their unnamed counterparts.

My seven-year-old granddaughter asked if Eli’s black cow and her big, black bull calf had names.  I told her that they didn’t, and suggested that she name them for us.  Without a moment’s hesitation or thought she dubbed the black cow “Brownie” and her big, hunky bull calf “Buttercup.”  When I told her dad about the new names he said, “They’re strange enough that they’ll probably stick.”  He was right.  I don’t know if animals really care about their names, but if they do, I don’t imagine that Brownie and Buttercup appreciate being laughed at.

There’s a new movie out where a white woman down South takes a young Black man under her wing.  He was a downcast boy that everyone called “Big Mike.”  Big Mike never talked.  As she attempted to draw him out, she said, “Tell me something about yourself.  Tell me anything.”  Big Mike didn’t say a word, so she said, “We can make this easy or hard.  Tell me just one thing.”  Big Mike looked up and said, “I don’t like being called Big Mike!”

“All right,” she said, “from now on I’m going to call you Michael.”  Michael went from flunking all of his classes to becoming a college graduate and a football star.

Children enter Primary at the age of three.  In perhaps their very first class the teacher gathers them in a circle and tosses a bean bag to a child.  The child’s job is to catch the bean bag, say his name, and toss the bean bag back.  The teacher thereby learns all of their names.  Later the game is expanded so that the children throw the bean bag to another child.  As he does so, the child must say the name of the person to whom he’s throwing it.  Thereby the children learn the names of every other child in the class.

That’s not a bad activity.  It’s maybe an activity that the adults in a ward or an organization ought to engage in.  When someone calls me by name, he’s giving me a compliment.  He’s in effect saying, “You’re important.  I’ve noticed you.”

In the First Vision, when the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph Smith, it’s significant to take note of the first word that Heavenly Father spoke:  He said, “Joseph, this is My Beloved Son.  Hear Him!”  I’m sure that the Father of us all knows not only Joseph’s name, but mine as well.

When I was in my first year of college I had a friend who called me “Steve.”  Where he came up with that name I have no idea.  When he first called me Steve I didn’t correct him.  I figured that it was just a slip of the tongue, and that he’d fix his mistake.  But the days passed, and I was still Steve.  So much time had gone by with my not correcting him that I was embarrassed to say anything.  I went that entire year being Steve.  I hated it, but I couldn’t do anything about it.  So I avoided him.  What a tragedy.  He was a nice young man, but I was uncomfortable to be around him.

My nephew’s name is Lorance Brent.  They’re both family names.  His mother liked the way they sounded together, and made Lorance his first name, even though they intended to call him Brent.  He grew to dislike the name Lorance because in every class at school and college he was Lorance on the rolls.  For one week in every class he’d have to be singled out and be the center of attention as he persistently corrected each teacher with the words, “My name is Brent!”  That went on for 16 years.  Life became easier when he reached adulthood because he was no longer on a classroom roll, and could sign his name L. Brent.

I started my life out as “Jamie.”  That’s what my family and friends all called me.  I liked the name.  In the first grade I signed all of my papers with the name Jamie.  But my teacher thought I should sign my papers with my real name instead of a nickname.  I can still vividly see Mrs. Scott in my mind’s eye as she taught me how to write “James” rather than “Jamie.”  I was amazed to find that I had another name.  To my friends, however, I was still Jamie through the six years of elementary school.

In junior high and high school I became Jim.  I was sick of the name by the time I graduated, though, because I’d been preceded through school by my brother, Tim.  Everyone who had known him couldn’t help but call me Tim instead of Jim.  I realized that the similarity of our names caused people trouble trying to tell us apart.  I didn’t want to go through life living in his shadow.  When I went on to another phase of life I made it a point to introduce myself as “James,” and that’s who I’ve been ever since.

I know a family who named their boys Tim, Kim, and Jim.  That’s cute, but very confusing for the rest of us.

To this day I wince inside when someone refers to me as Jim.  Even my wife does it sometimes when she’s talking to someone about me.  I can’t blame her.  That’s how she knew me when we met.

But my name is James.  My name is also Kerns.  K-E-R-N-S.  Because of Kearns, Utah no one from that state can spell my name without inserting an “A.”  When the roll is called up yonder, like the Protestant hymn says, my name will be listed as “James Kerns,” or else I’m going to look around before I answer, just to make sure I’m in the right place.

I really liked the name Jamie.  Consequently we named our youngest son James Eli so that we could call him Jamie.  He was Jamie for the first ten years of his life, and then in the fourth grade he announced that from henceforth he was going to go by his middle name.  It was very difficult for all of us to make the transition.  His problem, I think, was that the female gender usurped the name Jamie, and made it a girl’s name.  I resent that; but if you want either of us to answer you politely, you’ll do well to call us “James” and “Eli.”

Be careful how you name your children.  Be careful of nicknames.  Learn the names of the people around you, and use those names.  They’ll love you and respect you.