There are a lot of things we don't get to choose about ourselves. Our race. Our height. Our weight. Although there's probably a lot more people out there bitching about "genetic predispositions" being the cause of them being fat, compared to the actual number of bonafide cases out there. Sure, some peoples' genes may be inclined to pack on some extra padding, but I'm pretty sure there wasn't an ancient branch of homo sapiens who liked cake so much that they practically forced you to get that third helping, Marge. Hypothetically.

Anyways, we don't get to pick some parts of our physical selves. If we're lucky, we do get to choose most of who we are when it comes to our thoughts and feelings, although I suppose that's debatable too. And, sure, some of it just just chemistry beyond our control. 

But a person's name seems like it's the sort of thing that they should get to choose. Some cultures do it, I'm sure. I'm not quite educated enough to say for sure, but it seems like something a lot of Indian tribes would be up on. Wait until you're old enough, then you pick a name for yourself. Just because everyone was going crazy over "Bertha" back in the 1880s and your parents just went along with it doesn't mean you should be stuck as Bertha for a hundred years, if you're lucky. Luck being the age thing, not the Bertha thing. Sorry, Bertha's. Wouldn't it be swell if parents- well, first, if everyone just had parents- and then these parents picked your middle name, everyone called you that for a bit, then when you're 16 or 18 or 22 or whatever, you pick a name for yourself. Where you can stand up and decide "No, I don't want to be a goddamn Bertha, Mom and Dad, fuck you very much, how could you do this to me, etc."

I guess there are benefits to solidifying your identity early, though. There's stability there. I grew up without a name. Well, people called me something, of course. It's not like they said "Good morning, girl"- well, not all of them.  It was just that when you’re born to parents who are poor as shit, traveling around trying to survive, and then they die poor as shit in East Bumfuck, Nebraska, it’s not like you have a fancy silver locket with a name on it. Or a birth certificate. So I was “Girl” to some people. One orphanage called me Mary “because I looked like a Mary”, which was damn frustrating, because goddamn everyone is named Mary so how do I look like what seems like a third of the female population, who most definitely do not all look alike? Maybe you just don’t have an imagination? Maybe you should admit it. Oh, some places I was Jane. Lots of “Jane”. A few random ones. “Bertha”, once. Seriously. “Alice”. I was a “Sarah” for a couple weeks. But it’s hard growing up when you don’t know who you are. And I don’t mean that in a philosophical way. I mean I got bounced around often enough that sometimes it was hard to remember my name.

Well, the one thing I decided was that if there was so much disagreement on the subject, that I was going to pick my own name. I was a fan of “Rose”, for a while. Then it lost its bloom, so to speak. “Pearl” was a strong contender. Once I’d moved past my name-as- an-object phase I
was quite taken with “Julia”. But they didn’t rightly fit. Growing up in an orphanage was hell. I didn’t get some sort of finishing school to prepare me for society; I got a bunch of places where I had to learn how to scrap just to make sure I got some scraps of whatever shit dinner they were serving that night. And I was pretty good. I’m not saying I could lick everyone in a fight. The older boys- the big ones- they always ate first, and there was no way I could take them on. But I was always- always- the first girl in line. I could usually take the boys younger than me, and even
some of the scrawnier ones around my own age. That’s how you figured out your place. There was the king, who no one could touch. A bunch of boys who were in his circle. Then, if I was lucky, it was my group: the regulars. We could hold our own, and we climbed over each other
relentlessly to keep from being at the bottom of the pile. Those were the targets. I felt bad, sometimes, but that was just the way it was.

All of this is to say that none of the names I really liked- the ones I would read in the books- fit me. They were all to pretty, too wearing-a- white-dress- and-sipping- lemonade. Most of the saint names were just as bad.

But when it was time to pick my name? When I was 9? By then, I knew for sure. Saw the name on an old piece of paper. It was strong. Tough. Simple, but not boring. I knew that when I was big, when someone asked me my name?

I knew I'd say "Kate Logan". 

Kate looks up at the sky for a moment before cracking her knuckles.

Hello Brand. 

To begin, I acknowledge your ability to express whatever kind of opinion you have on anything. I also claim that same ability for myself

First, are you recommending that I should have included the idea that the past affects a particular person?

If so, I encourage you to consider that fact that not everything needs to be overly directly stated. That perhaps the title is a direct acknowledgement of the point, and that most people should be able to connect the subsequent dots on their own? And, perhaps, that the entirety of a complex thought sometimes takes more time to develop than a single point of a single day?

Second, I'm curious about your statement that

I usually pay my money to people who speak here but on this occasion I'm not going to but I nonetheless thank you for trying

There is no expectation at all that any public appearances or activities receive a financial incentive from onlookers. To respond that you are not going to do something that is in no way expected of you is at best sincerely unnecessary and at worst a waste of everyone's time. If, for example, I heard you making a speech and popped up to say something like  "I usually respond to speeches but this time I won't but thanks for trying" then I would be contributing nothing of any substance to the discussion at hand. 

I generally encourage people to participate in the streets, even if they're unsure of what to precisely say. (Oftentimes more experienced family members can be helpful in mentoring people here.) I do recommend, however, that if you need to choose between the option of a statement easily perceived as misguided and unnecessary or the option of saying nothing.... please consider the concept that maintaining a quiet state of reflection can often be the superior choice. 

For example, in a recent discussion led by Shaggs, he stated that

"The topic of The Made Man position has been beaten ad nauseum over the years but I really was trying to do some thinking about where it is today."

You chimed in to say 

Hi Shaggs, I liked that you came to the Streets to speak, I have sent you some money because I think Streets speakers should be tipped well for bringing thing here.

But the thing is, and I don't know if you are new to these Streets or not, but the subject of getting Made (or as it's sometimes known "getting your button) has been talked about a lot in the past.

Again, commenting on your own process of tipping or not is not remotely needed. No one expects you to tip. If you do, that's your business. But you've already made your point about tipping elsewhere, so you really don't need to do it here again. If half of what you have to say is commenting on your own private process, after you've already announced and pushed for that private process, it's a waste of everyone's time. 

Fortunately, that was only half of what you had to say. Unfortunately, the second half of what you had to say demonstrated that you lacked either a modicum of an attention span or basic listening skills. Because you questioned whether Shaggs was aware that someone had been discussed quite a bit in the past, which is the exact point he made in his second sentence.

In short, I would encourage you to consider how you could modify your statements to possess more substance and, if this is not easily achieved, consider the virtues of silence.