“You’re Amish!”
I glanced back to see where the words came from. The kid was staring straight at me.
“No I’m not,” I replied.
I had just taken my seat on the bus the first day of attending a new school. Twelve years old, and going into the seventh grade, this was a day I had been dreading. It was not easy to be around new people.
Now this.
The kid who spoke appeared to be a couple years older than me, and kept staring accusingly. He wasn’t backing down.
“Yes, you are Amish,” he exclaimed more loudly, with a frown on his face, “I saw your Mom.”
By now the rest of the kids around us were listening and staring too.
“We’re not Amish,” I repeated, “we’re Mennonites.” And at that moment, I wished for all the world that we were neither.
Our family had recently moved to the Wooster, Ohio area, from Elida, Ohio. Dad had been called into the ministry at the Salem Mennonite Church (Wooster), and this was my first experience riding a public school bus. It was bad enough that my stomach was tied in great big knots before climbing onto the bus. Now, it was even worse. I would have given anything be back at the little Elida Mennonite Christian Day School, with cousins and friends, nearly all of us from the same church—Pike Mennonite.
The nearest thing to Amish that we had in my home community was a group called the Dunkers, or Dunkards. Technically they are German Baptist, but Dunker is the moniker assigned to them because of their method of baptism. They not only dunk new believers under the water, but take them under three times. They are also a plain people—men wearing trimmed beards, and women wearing large head-coverings, and long dresses with capes. Other than appearance, they live with all the modern conveniences.
When we moved to Wayne County, and began seeing the Amish and horse-drawn buggies, it was really exciting. We were no different than the tourists.
“Quick! Grab the camera!”
We didn’t know it then, but apparently there were those who looked down on them. I’m not sure why. Dad used to mention that he considered them to be really righteous, because they took their outward practice of faith much further than the straight-cut coats on Mennonite men, and cape dresses and head-coverings on the Mennonite women.
I still remember Dad’s shock the first time he saw an Amishman smoking! This sighting set him back a little, and put a stain on his view of Amish righteousness. In the churches like ours, we were taught that smoking, drinking, and swearing were wrong—something Christians don’t do.
As for the boy who thought I was Amish—this was a typical misunderstanding for those who are unfamiliar with the many levels of Mennonites and Amish. They think we all dress alike, and if we look sort of like Amish, we must be Amish. Nope.
Today, the branch of Mennonites that my family is part of, does not hold to a particular dress code like the more conservative Mennonites and Amish. Although we go back to the same Anabaptist roots, we allow ourselves the freedom to wear the clothing of our modern culture—to a point. Modesty is still appreciated.
Those of us who were raised as North American Mennonites of German/Swiss descent may not always want to admit it, but there is definitely something that makes us a culture of our own—although the term ‘ethnic group’ might be more accurate.
There is an interesting phenomenon that often occurs when we are in places away from home. We may be in a group of complete strangers—none of whom are dressed in any way like a conservative Mennonite or Amish—and catch ourselves saying things like, “He looks like a Mennonite.” Or, we hear a name, and we just know. This even happened on our trip to Israel in November of 2013. There was a husband and wife couple in our diverse forty-person group whom we had never before met. They dressed like everyone else, but they just had the “look” and sure enough, they were. This is hard to explain. You almost need to have grown up in this culture, or a similar group, to understand.
Living in Wayne County, in a Mennonite and Amish community like we do, there are occasions when it would be more convenient to have a local Germanic surname like Miller or Yoder, Amstutz or Nussbaum. People with these names have a decided advantage when it comes to playing the “Mennonite Game.” There are no winners or losers of course, but it is definitely a habit of those raised in this culture to attempt to identify a common relative or acquaintance when first meeting someone.
For example, here is a typical introduction. (Keep in mind that Roth is a common name among the Mennonites.)
“Hello, I’m Dan Miller”
“Hi Dan, my name is Dave Ross”
“Dave Roth. Are you related to the Roths at…..”
“No... it’s Ross, not Roth.”
“Oh, ……….Ross?”
“Yes. Ross.”
And then after a moment of embarrassed silence, I interject that “I married into this community. I’m married to a Neuenschwander.”
Now we're off and running. Suddenly we can make all kinds of connections, and I’m “in” again. (Or at least that’s what it feels like.)
A few of the older folks around here also remember I. Mark Ross, and we can connect there. And many around Wayne County knew my Dad, Richard, and my uncle Roland. That is a blessing too.
And that describes the game. Making connections. That seems to be important to us. But that’s just part of human nature too. We all have this need to belong to some group or entity, and to feel like we are part of the herd.
I once made the mistake of telling a local gentleman that his last name didn’t sound like a Mennonite name. What a small world I lived in. A ridiculous thing for me to say. I was quickly informed that his last name is common among Mennonites in certain parts of Pennsylvania. I was then reminded that my name was not at all common in Menno circles. Oops. This is true. Great-Granddad Ross, a Virginian, and a blacksmith for the Confederates during the Civil War, was married to Julia Whitsel. Near as we know, they were part of the United Brethren denomination. After David died at the young age of forty seven, Julia and the children moved to Elida, Ohio to be near her oldest son George who had become a Mennonite. Here, she too joined the Mennonite Church, and that was the beginning of Mennonite Rosses.
But all things considered, it’s nice to have a simple easy-to-pronounce last name like Ross, Smith, Miller, King, Good, Bear, Bland, or Davis. The “game” doesn’t matter anyway. The legacy of faith is the important thing.
As I was writing this, an Amishman came to our front door selling Krispy Kreme Donuts. Really. It was a fundraiser for a family with large medical bills. Bless his heart. It was a really cold and snowy day. I bought a dozen and told him to keep the change. It was difficult to refrain from asking him what his last name was, and where he was from. No doubt we could have made some connections. He was a friendly guy though, and said “You don’t have to be crazy to be out here, but it helps.”
And speaking of the Amish. This is where the “Mennonite Game” could be labeled as: “For ages three to six.” Seriously. Being Amish takes this game to an entirely new level. It seems the Amish have a fairly limited selection of first names and a short list of last names. In 1920, there were about 5000 Amish in the USA. Today, their numbers are reported as nearly 300,000. I’m guessing here, but I’ll bet that nearly half of them are Millers, Yoders, or Troyers. It’s only logical that there are a huge number of name duplications. Many of them have nicknames—even multiple nicknames—to help identify which Mary or Dan you are talking about. I used to associate with an Amish fellow whose nickname was Coon-Dan’s-Crist’s-Dan Yoder. Just Dan to me, but if I wanted to explain to someone else which Dan Yoder, I’d have to say the whole string.
Here’s a few more that I’ve known. Happy Dan, Ear Dan, Hammer Dan, Hog Back John, Long John, Buck Wayne, and Buck Wayne’s Mary. Most nicknames describe a person’s location, occupation, physical characteristic, or a spouse. Happy Dan is always smiling. Ear Dan, well yes, he has big ears. Hammer Dan is a carpenter. Hogback John lived on Hogback Road. Long John was very tall.
Speaking of real games. I recently learned there is a game called Amishology. It tests your knowledge about the Amish. You can buy it on the internet, or at several places in Indiana and Pinecraft, Florida.
So long for now, from the lovely town of Kidron, Ohio, where you don’t have to be a Mennonite, but if you choose to make your home here, you’ll be surrounded by a lot of them—mostly really good people.
Just for giggles, take a moment to watch and listen to this song about the Mennonite Game.
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