I Don’t Know How to Say My Own Last Name

When it comes to my last name, I’ve heard everything: “heron-chEEk,” “RO-keck,” “her-CHICK,” and many others. I’ve been asked how to pronounce it more times than I can count. But in truth I don’t know the correct way, and neither does anyone in my family.

After my great grandparents emigrated from Croatia in the early 1900s, the Hroncich family quickly assimilated into American life. We don’t speak Croatian or have memories of older family members speaking it. This unpronounceable surname is all I carry of Croatian identity, and different family members enunciate it different ways. My grandpa would say “her-on-SICK.” Other relatives say “RON-keck.” The pronunciation I inherited from my dad—and the one I prefer—is “her-ON-check.”

How is it possible that within three generations the Hroncichs don’t know how to say their own name? Such is—to use a term now out of fashion—the great American melting pot. It’s a wonderful benefit that so many cultures have blended to form the America that we know today, where anyone can become as thoroughly American as anybody else. But without caution, it’s easy to lose your own heritage and customs.

I can relate to people with difficult-to-pronounce surnames. Former Rep. Liz Cheney has faced many well-publicized challenges, but a less known one is that all the world pronounces her name “chain-ee,” when, according to her mom, it’s actually “chee-nee.” Peter Thiel, similarly, is not Peter “theel” but Peter “teal.” I am no fan of Rep. Rashida Tlaib, but it must be a lifelong burden to get others to say that surname correctly. (And how do you say it, anyway? Honest question.)

For that reason I’m very patient with other people’s attempts at saying my name. Take a look at my byline—maybe it works in Croatian, but in English, those letters have no business getting together in that order. An H followed by an R? Pat, I’d like to buy a vowel.

My brother recently visited Croatia, where he hoped finally to learn how to say our last name. The trip was a reminder that he was simply another traveler, learning about the country’s culture like anyone else. It’s sad that our family, like so many others, are now tourists in a country our ancestors called home only three generations ago. But there is something beautiful about the patchwork quilt that is America.

On his trip my brother learned we’ve been saying our name wrong all along: It’s “RON-chich,” but said in a way that our American accents still can’t really pronounce. Not that we’ll try to change it. After all, we’re not Croatian anymore.

Ms. Hroncich is a Robert L. Bartley Fellow at the Journal.