/Ah-li-sh-ah/, /Ah-lee-sha/, /Ah-lee-see-ah/, /Al-ih-son/, trust me it's been pronounced a thousand ways. I would be lying if I said I've never wondered what my parents were thinking when they came up with a name as complex in spelling and articulation as mine. But behind the endless mispronunciations and the routine misspellings, it's still my name. Similarly, that is why I believe John Proctor destroyed his confession.
No, not because people were misspelling his name, but because he encountered a defining moment. I believe that at that very climax amidst all disorder, the only vision in his mind was that of four little letters. Four little letters that when placed side by side in that perfect order showed him exactly what he needed to see JOHN, his name.
I think when Proctor finally faced that image, it was crystal clear what his choices were. It was at that exact moment that he affirmed in his mind that if he were to sign that confession, they would strip him of his name and he would be spending the rest of his life in a lie. He would no longer be John. Each letter of his name would be forever coated in eternal filth that would remove any dignity or respectability from him without return. It was at that point of highest intensity that John Proctor exclaimed what was right in his heart. I innately watched his actions after he destroyed the confession, and if you observe him you actually can see a sense of calamity within him. When you watch him take one last glance at his wife, it's obvious that they both know he has made the right decision. .
I can only hope that my name will one day leave as lasting of an impression as John Proctor has left on me. No matter how anyone spells it. .
