By Any Other Name

In the early days of our species, before civilization reared its ugly head, names were almost unnecessary. Humans lived in small family tribes and only occasionally interacted with others outside that unit. Language was minimal, and people, if they did have a name, were typically known by defining features. “One-arm,” or “Father of many” or “Penis-nose” were standard names for individuals. Then came the obvious “Son of Penis-Nose,” and so on and so forth. As the seeds of civilization began to bloom, tribes became larger, and cities sprang up along trade routes, people and families became known by their occupations: Baker, Smith, Hancock and the like. As commerce became more and more important, as did personal property, and natural resources. The combination of natural resources and personal property leads inevitably to conflict.

It’s been said that civilization emerged when a group of people who spoke similar languages decided to come together and defend themselves and their property. Once that happened, it was time for more specific names. In the barbaric and oft idiotically idealized “time of chivalry,” armor was what kept a fighter alive. Unfortunately, armor also hid the fighter’s face. In order to identify himself and the family from whence he came, knights and the like began carrying standards displaying the symbols of their names. It was this tradition that is attributed with the catalog and importance of familial names.

In more superstitious times, it was believed that to know the true name of a person or a thing, was to have power over it. It was believed that to know the name of a spirit or a demon, for instance, gave one the power to summon it from the shadows and command it to do one’s bidding. Once can easily see the roots of this superstition, because there is not power greater than the one who names a thing. We name pets, boats, and we also name children.

The fetching Mrs. Sonnier is expecting in only an armful of months, and one of the innumerable responsibilities associated with that eventuality is determining the name of the child. One would think that once the sex is determined, choosing a name would be much easier, when in fact it just brings the list of choices from one hundred million to fifty million. Narrowing our choices to two has been a most impossible task. Elise likes classic names, yet won’t commit because they’re on the rise in popularity right now. I, on the other hand, like contemporary names, such as those of characters from Transformers, Thundercats and popular pornographic films of the eighties. As you can see, we just don’t see eye to eye.

This is a huge thing, let’s make no mistake. The proper naming of a child is part and parcel to their proper care, and delicacy is imperative. However, I’m beginning to realize this is just a symptom of a larger issue. Very soon, we’re going to be parents to a helpless baby, a fact which fills me with equal amounts of dread and elation. Having never even met the little guy, I’m already starting to feel the creeping instinct of protection. Its cliché, but everyone wants the best of everything for their children, and an obvious first step is giving them the perfect name.



Take for example, the dashing young Almighty Supremebeing Allah of West Hartford, Connecticut. You see, his parents really, really loved him, and saw fit to give him the most amazingly perfect name that one could imagine. If we named our kid Almighty Supremebeing Allah, it would just seem kitschy and lame. It seems like all the good names, like Nevaeh, Pilot, Apple, Trout, Nacho, and Zenya Zulu Butterfuly Wallace are all taken. I even found out that Asswipe Johnson isn’t even up for grabs anymore. Neither is Sunshine Megatron.

We can’t even have Talulah Does The Hula From Hawaii, and that was number three on a very long list.

Everyone wants the same thing from a name: something recognizable that most people at the DMV will be able to pronounce, but not something that seven other kids in his class will have, but also not something pretentious or made up like Jaydon or Kristobell. (Sorry Jaydon and Kristobell, your parents are retarded)

Despite everything, I’m still just scared. Names are important, and to name something is indeed a manner of having power over that thing. In just a few short weeks, we’ll be finding out if it’s a boy or a girl (or the “hamburger or hot dog test,” as they call it in the ultrasound industry, yes, they do have quite the sense of humor…) and then the process of actually coming up with a name will begin its journey towards full stride. Once this little thing has a name, that’s when my power and responsibility as a parent will come into real focus, and that’s a terrifying prospect.

What’s in a name? A hell of a lot, as it turns out. It’s what you’ll be yelling loudly when you find a permanent marker drawing of a ninja turtle on the kitchen cabinet, it’s also the name that will be standing forefront in your mind as your wife squeezes your hand as she pushes the little bugger into the world. It’s a daunting task, picking a name, but it certainly won’t be the last, I just hope we can get off to a good start.