Waiting patiently at my desk while the teacher called out names to return quizzes. “Aiden, Elle,” she called out, placing the papers on the table, “Chas, Tim.” I glanced over my shoulder, looking for Tim. He wasn’t in this class. He didn’t have this teacher.

Confused, I slowly stood up. The quiz must have been mine, but I was Timmy, not Tim. I made my way to the table to grab my quiz. 

Lying on the table, was my quiz, with Timmy written in pencil across the top. Still confused, I took it back to my desk. The name felt foreign to me as if I walked into the wrong class and grabbed the wrong quiz. I had always been Timmy, not Timothy, certainly not Tim, but my teacher didn’t seem to care. She must have read the name on the quiz, heard me correct Timothy to Timmy on the first day, but still, she called out, “Tim.”

Sitting back at my desk, staring at the poster-filled walls, holding the quiz in my hand I realized that, for the rest of the year, in that class, I would be Tim, not Timmy.

I always knew that I would not go by Timmy forever and that eventually, I would go by Tim, but hearing someone call me that felt strange. It was like hearing a word that has been read many times out loud for the first time. I knew it was my name and was directed at me, but it felt like a brand new name that had no connection to me. It was a name that I always associated with someone else and hearing it made me think I was being mistaken for a different person.

The next time I was called on, I was prepared for being called Tim, and I was quick to respond. The name still felt foreign, but I knew that with time I would grow a connection to it. Eventually, I would be Tim, just not yet. 

Years have passed since then and, although I am still Timmy to some, I have embraced the new name and I am now Tim.