And Thy Name Shall Be . . .

Something
By Paul Reiser

Naming your child is a monumental responsibility. You get to tag and identify – for life –
a whole new person. Throughout your child’s life, it will come up every hour of every day.
“Name, please.”
“Hi, what’s your name?”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“We just need you to sign your name.”
“Would you put last name first, first name last, middle initial . . . “
“May I ask who’s calling?
“Name and Social Security number . . . “
And with every usage, that name – the result of hours and hours of debate, and the
consideration of an infinite number of variables, uninvited input, and conflicting personal
agendas – that name will, for good or bad, represent to the world and its people, for all
eternity, your child.
Which is why you don’t want to screw it up.

INTRODUCTION
And Thy Name Shall Be . . . Something by Paul Reiser

People screw up their kids’ names all the time. Not on purpose. In fact, usually with the
best of intentions. The new parents who want their child to stand out and be recognized, who
want more than anything to thrust their child forward from a sea of common and
interchangeable surnames, are the ones responsible for kindergartens full of Zebadiahs,
Queequegs, and Moons. Lovely and creative names all. Unfortunately, these kids are in for a

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lifetime of quizzical stares, judgmental smirks, and patronizing displays of phony interest, in
response to which they can only say, “Yeah, my parents were into a thing . . . “
The power is extraordinary. The simple combination of letters and sounds you select
can result in a life of carefree coolness or decades of expensive therapy.
“Hi, I’m Jake” versus “Hi, I’m . . . . Tapioca.”
Not to denigrate the virtues of being unique. It’s just that there’s a fine line between
Good Unique and Just Plain Wrong. Good Unique is when you call your child’s name and he’s
the only one who comes running. Just Plain Wrong is when they’re running because they’re
being chased.
I imagine that part of the reasons there are so many Bobs and Janes year after year is
that even parents who want to be creative ultimately chicken out. And understandably. You
never know when the name you love today is going to be hideous tomorrow. The Ashleys,
Dylans, and Maxes of our children could turn out to be what Hortense, Gertrude, and frankly,
Max were when we were growing up. It’s sort of like the jacket you wore in your high school
yearbook photo; it may have been cutting-edge that week, but for the rest of your life, you’re
“the maroon-plaid-jacket guy with lapels the size of sea flags.”
All I know is that if you name your daughter Trixie or Tina, she’s more likely to sleep in a
van with a band from Seattle than the exact same girl names Ruth. Similarly, a boy named
Herbert may grow up to play baseball professionally, but not as easily as Dale, Pee Wee, or
Scooter. This, of course is not scientifically documented or anything, but . . . I think I know what
I’m talking about.
A lot of people tell you that their kid popped into the world and the name just revealed
itself.
“He looks like an ‘Elliot.’ Let’s call him ‘Elliot.’”
Com on – nobody seven minutes old looks like “Elliot.” It takes years to look like
“Elliot.” If they’re like most newborns, your precious new one will enter this world looking like
one of three things: Winston Churchill, Mahatma Gandhi, or a boiled chicken. That’s basically

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it. (It is possible for a baby to look like Churchill or Gandhi and a boiled chicken, but this usually
goes away with time and plenty of fluids.)
In some cultures they don’t even name their babies right away. They wait until they see
how the child develops; see what they do, see how they behave . . . and then name the kid
accordingly. Like in Dances with Wolves. If you stand with your fists clenched, you’re called
Stands with a Fist. I like that system. It certainly makes it easy to remember people you’ve
met.
“How’s that guy doing?”
“What guy?”
“You know . . . what’s-his-name, the guy who’s always yelling at the vegetables . . . “
“Oh, you mean Barks at Salad?”
“Yes, yes, Barks at Salad . . . how’s he doing? . . . “
Unfortunately, in our world, kids’ names would be less romantic and poetic. Certainly
less warrior-like.
“This is y oldest boy, Falls Off His Tricycle, his friend, Dribbles His Juice, and my beautiful
daughter, Allergic to Nuts.”
Some people don’t agonize at all about finding the perfect name. They simply give the
kid their name.
“He’ll be me, but Me Junior. To be followed by Me the Third, and his son, Me the
Fourth.”
Certainly moves things along. Of course, if you’re really pressed for time, do what
heavyweight champ George Foreman did - - name all of his kids George Foreman. God bless
him, a great fighter, a fine humanitarian – not, apparently, the most creative in the naming
department. An entire family named George Foreman. It’s not like they’re of successive
generations, overlapping only here and there for a few years . . No, this is almost half a dozen
guys, with the exact same name, all living in the same house.
For others, the task of naming is simplified by family mandates. “The child will be
named after his grandfather.” Or, “She will take her mother’s surname, and it shall be as her

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own . . . And they shall go forth unto themselves, with their beasts and their grains, and into the
desert shall they sojourn.” (I’m sorry, I just saw The Ten Commandments on TV and frankly, I
enjoy talking like that.)
In our case, we knew we wanted to name our child after my father. We didn’t want to
use the exact same name, but something beginning with the same letter. We had plenty of
girls’ names we liked, but nothing for a boy. Of course, when our son came out a boy (as
almost all sons do) we were stuck. So we decided instead to honor my father’s name by making
it our son’s middle name. Middle names are kind of like vice presidents: It’s a fine distinction
and certainly an honor, but you’re never not aware that someone else got the real job.
Parents often give middle names just so that later, when they’re yelling at the kid, they
can drag it out.
“Henry David Thoreau, you come in here this instant!” It gives them something extra to
sink their teeth into.
If, however, you assassinate someone, your middle name is all over the place. Once you
shoot a famous person, not only do you go to jail and sit alone hungering for a forgiveness that
eludes you your whole life, but on top of that, your middle name, whether you like it or not,
gets publicly and permanently cemented right between your first and last name. They just run
those puppies together like Sonny-and-Cher. There’s no way you can undo something like that.
But because of the potential anonymity enjoyed by middle names, they also represent
opportunities for Name Givers to safely store their really creative choices. So when you meet
kids named Stanly DiMaggio Miller or Carol Satchmo Smith, you know their parents had healthy
doses of not only creative sparks but discretion, too.
The moment you announce your child’s name, people take it in for a moment, digest it,
and then say, “Okay, but what are you going to call him?”
“What do you mean, what are we going to call him? His name.”
“No, of course, but what’s the nickname going to be? I mean Franklin is a beautiful
name, but what do we call him? Frank? Frankie? Frankle? Frankfurter?”

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 This was a setback I hadn’t seen coming. After finally landing on a name the two of you
like, your family tells you it’s not enough. You have to come up with a menu of officially
sanctioned deviations and nicknames, which they’re going to disregard anyway.
“Hello, Snooky . . . Hello, Angel-puss . . . Who’s my sweet Pumpkin?”
They get called a lot of foods, these babies. “Pumpkin,” “Angel Cake,” “Cupcake,”
“Honey,” Sweet Pea,” “Puddin’ . . . ”
But not all foods. You never hear someone call an infant “Steak.” “Chicken
Parmigiana.” “Eggs.”
I think the rule of thumb is, desserts and side dishes are okay, entrees and appetizers,
not okay. The only exceptions that I’m aware of are my Aunt Cutlet and Uncle Bisque, who
were actually born with those names but, ironically, were later nicknamed Phyllis and Lloyd.
So we bought every book out there on baby names, because when you’re not by nature
good with decisions, what could be more pleasant than slugging through the list of every name
registered in every town on the globe? While it is nice to learn about other peoples, I’m not
sure that any one family needs that many choices. You’re probably going to stay within a given
range. Very few people end up deciding, “Okay, so Achmanzlebred if it’s a girl, and if it’s a boy
– Scott.”
You do, however, get to learn the etymology and origin of names, which is useful for
parents trying to boost the self-esteem of kids stuck with loser names.
“Sweetheart, you know Milton actually means ‘Ferocious Fighter of Freedom’ . . . “
Of course, some names you can eliminate pretty comfortable.
“Adolf?” -- “Out”
“Medusa? – “Out”
Yup . . . Naming your child is a monumental responsibility. You get to tag and identify –
for life – a whole new person. Throughout your child’s life, it will come up every hour of every
day.
“Name, please.”
“Hi, what’s your name?”

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 That name will, for good or bad, represent to the world and its people, for all eternity,
your child - Which is why you don’t want to screw it up.

Thanks to mom and dad for my name: (INSERT FULL NAME HERE)

SOURCE INFORMATION
Author: Paul Reiser
Book: Babyhood
ISBN: 978-0380728725
Publisher: Avon
Date (Month/Year): Aug 1998

AWARD HISTORY

MN State Qualifier
KS State Qualifier

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