Can You Be Good at Fundraising but Bad With Names?

A (sort of) confession

For the past two years, I’ve played pickleball with one of the nicest, sweetest guys you’ve ever met. And he’s terrible at remembering my name.

Actually, he doesn’t remember anybody’s name. Or the score of a game. Or where he parked his car. And he gets visibly frustrated with himself about it. He once leaned over to me, pointed out a woman we’ve both played a lot of pickleball with, and asked, “Hey, Dave…Don…I mean Dan. That tall gal over there in the black shirt. Her name is Kelly, right?” And I replied, almost apologetically, “No…that’s Kathy.”

He got a pained look on his face and shook his head. “Man, I was way off,” he said.

Fundraisers are supposed to be good at remembering names. I’m not terrible with names and, like most people, I’m pretty average at it. But I don’t let it stop me from trying to connect with people.

Let me give you an example.

Every morning at the same time I take my dogs—Jasper and Piglet—out for a walk along our regular route. This is them:

This is my phone’s background. Jasper is on the left and Piglet is on the right. They’re not related. We unintentionally got matching dogs.

Jasper is very workmanlike during his walks. He goes to the bathroom every morning on my neighbor’s lawn (sorry Tim and Jenny), he prefers to always walk on the same side of the street, and he knows that breakfast is served once we get home. Piglet is more like the neighborhood gossip: she sniffs around other people’s places and inserts herself into other people’s business.

Every morning for the past year, we cross paths with a really personable dog walker. I don’t remember his name, but he remembers mine.

I think this dog walker’s name is Guido and the dog’s name is Duke.

But I can’t shake the feeling that the dog walker’s name might be Duke and the dog’s name is Guido.

Here’s a photo, taken from a distance, from behind, on a cloudy day.

Help me out, you guys. Who’s who?

It’s hard (but not impossible) for me to now ask his name because I feel like we’ve already connected. Like during football season, for example, we talk about the Ravens every Monday morning. I’ve somehow given him the impression I know more about football than I actually do. He’ll say things like: “Could you believe it, Dan? A screen pass on a deep slot route to a wideout on a 3^rd and long!?” And then I’ll say, “I couldn’t believe it!” And then we both get on with our walks.

Guido/Duke also knows Jasper has struggled with some health issues and always asks how he’s doing. He’ll say super reassuring things like “Jasper is looking like a champ today!” and he’ll remark on what great care I must be taking of my dogs.

S I D E N O T E

If you ever pass me walking my dogs, be prepared to hear an evolving array of commands I’ve never actually taught my dogs. Within earshot of other dog owners, you’ll hear me say “Walk on, Jasper”—who will then continue doing what he was already doing and look at me sort of confused. You might hear me say, “Piglet, Release! Now mush!” She knows neither command because she’s our second dog and we got lazy. I just want my neighborhood to think my dogs are smart, you guys.

But these pups do know some commands. Jasper knows “Go chill out!”—which means go to your dog bed and leave me alone. And if you put your face in front of Piglet and say “Boop!” she’ll lick your nose. Children #1 & #2 taught her that and it’s as adorable as it sounds.

I rarely have problems remembering new names in my professional life because I have a database, emails, and a paper trail to burn the names into my brain. So, here’s why I give myself a break about not remembering Duke/Guido’s name.

It isn’t hampering the relationship we have. Throughout our morning meetings I’ve learned that he’s joyfully and enthusiastically retired after a 40-year career, he’s a transplant from neighboring Pennsylvania, he’s lost a bunch of weight from his dog walking side-hustle, and plenty of other things. These small exchanges are now an integral part of my day. I like seeing Guido/Duke, chatting for a hot minute, and then pointing Jasper to Tim and Jenny’s front yard.

I should remember Duke/Guido’s name because it’s basic politeness. And I want to be a polite person. But I think it’s interesting how quickly we made a connection and have become part of each other’s routines. That’s what fundraising is all about. The small conversations that, over time, lead to bigger conversations, right?

I’m publically commiting to all of you right now that in the next week I’ll eat some humble pie for breakfast, explain that I think I’ve been misremembering Guido/Duke’s name, and ask for a reintroduction. And while I hope I pay more attention to names the next time I meet someone, I won’t let it stop me from making a connection.

So, yes, you can be good at fundraising but bad at names. Just keep working at it. It’s something easy we can all do, right?

Very, Very Important Post-Script!

Two days after writing this, I met another dog walker in the neighborhood whose name is…*snapping fingers, snapping fingers, snapping fingers*…uhhh….it doesn’t matter what his name is.

I asked him if he knew Guido/Duke.

He does.

Are you ready for it?

The man’s name is Guido Geno.

The dog’s name is Duke Dutch.

Man, I was way off.