How I got my unpronouncable name?

(see also ChaosBook.blogspot.com/2010/10/whuz-yr-name.html )

Zu meinem Nachnamen: Der Name meines Adoptivvaters Cvitanović (Cvit = Blume, tanov = Sohn von, ić = Kleiner) ist ein verbreiteter kroatischer Bauern- und Fischername. Mein Name (Pre = zu viel, drag = wertvoll) stammt aus einem serbischen Epos über zwei Straßenräuber „Predrag und Nenad“, einer Nacherzählung der Geschichte von Kain und Abel. Nenad („unerwartet“, auch „Keine Hoffnung“) stammt von meinem kroatischen leiblichen Vater, der seine Studentenkollegin, die Tochter eines serbisch-orthodoxen Priesters, unerwartet schwängerte; das Ergebnis war mein älterer Halbbruder Nenad Belić. Daher wird der 2. Sohn „Predrag“ genannt. Die beiden Väter haben sich also verschworen, um meinen Namen für fast jeden auf der Welt unaussprechlich zu machen.

Der Familienname meiner Mutter, Golmajer (früher Gollmayer / Gollmayr geschrieben), macht mich zu einem Österreicher: Die Gollmayers waren Leibeigene, die von ihrem deutschen Herrn im frühen XVII Jahrhundert nach Slowenien gebracht wurden. Jahrhundert nach Slowenien gebracht wurden. Es gibt auch Ungarn in der Mischung, insbesondere die Familie Esterházy und auch General Josip Filipović, der die österreichisch-ungarische Besetzung von Bosnien und Herzegowina im Jahr 1878 leitete. Die Folgen kennen Sie.

[Übersetzt mit DeepL.com]

About my surname: my adoptive father's name Cvitanović (Cvit = flower, tanov = son of, ić = little one) is a common Croatian peasant and fisherman name. My name (Pre= too much, drag=precious) comes from a Serbian epic about two highway robber men "Predrag and Nenad", a retelling of the Cain and Abel story. Nenad ("unexpected", also "No hope") comes from my Croatian biological father, who got his university student colleague, daughter of a Serbian orthodox priest, unexpectedly pregnant, result being my older half-brother Nenad Belić. Hence the 2nd son gets to be "Predrag". Thus the two fathers conspired to make my name unpronounceable to almost anybody on the planet.

My mother's family name Golmajer (previously spelled Gollmayer / Gollmayr) makes me Austrian: Gollmayers were serfs, brought to Slovenia by their German lord in early XVII century. There are also Hungarians in the mix, in particular, the family Esterházy, and also general Josip Filipović who led the Austro-Hungarian occupation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1878. The consequences you know.

Children of professsors are not like us

 

S and I went to Hopfield's Nobel Lecture 

 

 

 (very good, but do not waste one minute on Jumper's lecture) and talked about you, children of professors vs. our own expectations as scientists. A lover from graduate days at Cornell, which I was madly in love with, had been introduced to me as a "daughter of a Cornell professor", a bit of information that seemed irrelevant  - nobody ever brought up professions of parents of other friends I had.  But maybe you guys are not like us, civilians.

Hopfield's was a child of two physics professors, and already in his teen years was pondering what would be important problems, meaning Nobel Prize level important.

I was raised as an often hungry child of a single mother in two-rooms 5th floor walk-up of what used to be the kitchen and the maid's room of a what originally was large apartment owned by a Jewish family that vanished under Nazi occupation, and I am still - honestly, really! - amazed that I have job that gives me freedom to sit and think about what I love to think about, and nevertheless a paycheck magically appears on my bank account most months of the year. A thought that I should think about important problems never crossed my mind.

The same with S. She was perfectly happy teaching evening adult physics classes at U of * - she started that at age 16 not to have to ask her father for any money, and hanging out with other physics nerds, until one evening when she was told to flee the country or otherwise be  disappeared the next day by fascist thugs. Kind colleagues at U of * made it possible for her and her husband to enroll into the graduate program in the weird barbarian north. Once she understood that her adviser was an ignorant fool, she did whatever seemed interesting. The thought that what she worked on should be important never entered the considerations. 

But you guys (and I have crossed paths with many, statistics of fessors begetting fessors being what it is) seemed to belong here, starting age three.

I apologize if I am off the mark, as - beyond knowing you professionally, I know nothing.

This thing -being Central European "intellectual"- I did get from growing up in a home at all hours filled with equally semi-hungry poets, sculptors, art historians, writers constantly arguing, with conflicting views on things they were blissfully ignorant about.  They made me who I am, I fled them for math and physics, where things were either true or false.