Name-jacking
One of the most fun - and dare I imagine most stressful - parts of having a child comes with the name. Herein you can eternally set your child up for humiliation, like naming your child something that sounds like Gay Land. So you and (hopefully) your wife, once the great news has come along, begin the task of figuring out the proper moniker for the new peanut. In some cases, books are bought, lists scavenged, so that the perfect name will fit the child. Case in point - Alexander might not have been so Great had he been named Bocephus (100 points to anybody that knows that reference without having to Google it).
Once this name has been settled on, it is almost considered hallowed, to a point. Many parents will share the name only with a select few, if any at all. Most guard the name like a penguin sitting on an egg in the arctic circle.
It inevitably happens, though, that the name gets jacked. Sometimes it's intentional, most times not, yet there always seems to be a good bit of emotion and hurt feelings surrounding this - justifiably so, I might add. Now with all that said...
Last month, just before my grandfather's funeral, there was a time for just the family to be together before the ride to the church. I don't have the space nor time to go in to it, but let's just say that my family is... interesting. Both of my grandparents come from huge families, each with 8 or more siblings. While many stayed somewhat local (to their own detriment), others moved elsewhere, seeking something a little more "civilized". Think the Clampetts moving to Beverly Hills.
One of these so-called "eccentrics" came in from the high society of Mississippi on that morning, and you would have thought the whole morning was about her. I have no problems admitting this - beyond an amiable nod, I didn't really want to spend that much time with her. I intentionally pretended to not hear her call my name out as I walked past her the first time, instead convincing myself that the message I carried was of the utmost importance - it wasn't. On my return trip, I got caged, and was called upon to bask in her presence. With my brother.
There was the usual blabber about something - my filter was on - but then she said something that really caught my attention. "Y'all know there's a third Bocephus, don't you? This is him," she said, pointing to the shmuck on her right. I thought I heard a bump and a roll from the casket.
My grandfather was Bocephus Sr. My dad was Bocephus Jr. My brother is Bocephus III!
Once this name has been settled on, it is almost considered hallowed, to a point. Many parents will share the name only with a select few, if any at all. Most guard the name like a penguin sitting on an egg in the arctic circle.
It inevitably happens, though, that the name gets jacked. Sometimes it's intentional, most times not, yet there always seems to be a good bit of emotion and hurt feelings surrounding this - justifiably so, I might add. Now with all that said...
Last month, just before my grandfather's funeral, there was a time for just the family to be together before the ride to the church. I don't have the space nor time to go in to it, but let's just say that my family is... interesting. Both of my grandparents come from huge families, each with 8 or more siblings. While many stayed somewhat local (to their own detriment), others moved elsewhere, seeking something a little more "civilized". Think the Clampetts moving to Beverly Hills.
One of these so-called "eccentrics" came in from the high society of Mississippi on that morning, and you would have thought the whole morning was about her. I have no problems admitting this - beyond an amiable nod, I didn't really want to spend that much time with her. I intentionally pretended to not hear her call my name out as I walked past her the first time, instead convincing myself that the message I carried was of the utmost importance - it wasn't. On my return trip, I got caged, and was called upon to bask in her presence. With my brother.
There was the usual blabber about something - my filter was on - but then she said something that really caught my attention. "Y'all know there's a third Bocephus, don't you? This is him," she said, pointing to the shmuck on her right. I thought I heard a bump and a roll from the casket.
My grandfather was Bocephus Sr. My dad was Bocephus Jr. My brother is Bocephus III!
posted by misawa at 7:26 AM
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