Harmony doesn't need name tag

You've got to hand it to Scott Ginsberg. He's made a name for himself.

And to think he did it with something as simple as a handwritten, slap-it-on-your-shirt name tag.

Ginsberg sees it as a conversation starter, a simple way to get people to talk to each other rather than stare blankly at the floor.

The 23-year-old Ginsberg grew up in a St. Louis suburb and settled on this name tag thing when he was a sophomore in college in 1999 and had to wear a name tag for a seminar.

A year later, he started wearing a name tag permanently. He says it's allowed him to meet new people almost every day.

Ginsberg now lives in Portland, Ore., and has self published a book, "Hello, My Name is Scott." He even has a Web site.

Of course, lots of companies require their employees to wear IDs at work. Southeast Missourian reporters wear badges just in case someone doesn't understand why we're scribbling illegible words in small notebooks.

But that's an official badge. It doesn't encourage spontaneous, let's-have-a-beer conversation.

Ginsberg may have the right idea, but clearly some people would feel they had stumbled into a permanent seminar with no hope of ever getting out of the meeting room.

Children don't need name tags. They naturally embrace each other with the enthusiasm and innocence of youth.

Put them on a playground or in a classroom and there's instant communication. No one stays quiet for long.

Kids are an ice breaker for parents too.

Parents will think nothing of striking up a conversation with other parents when they're visiting their children's schools or picking up their kids at day care.

We tend to know other parents through the eyes of our children. That's Johnny's dad or this is Sally's mom.

There's a whole world of shared experiences, from Play Day to youth soccer, and school choir to Scouting.

As far as I know, no one wore a name tag when the Cape Girardeau Middle School choir gave its performance of "Jabuti" at the old high school gym last week.

The performance told the story in music and song of how the turtle ended up with his distinctive shell.

Becca, our fifth grader, and most of her friends sing in the choir. The students in the choir have rehearsed at least once a week at 7 a.m. throughout the school year.

As a result, many parents have made the early morning trip to school to drop off their singing children.

There's no worry about a traffic jam at that time of day. The safety patrol isn't out that early.

All those early mornings have paid off, judging from the applause that the kids received.

Certainly, there could have been no finer tribute to the turtle than the one offered up by these Middle School students.

You don't need name tags when you're performing the Lizard's Song and the Vulture's Song.

They won't make the Hit Parade, but they'll get applause every time from parents who are thrilled to learn that their kids really can take direction.

In such a setting, there's plenty to smile about even without name tags.

As choir director Pam Dumey certainly knows, life is always better when there's a little harmony.

Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.