We have a tradition in our family.
I know what you’re going to say . . .
Hear me out . . .
When we were expecting our babies, and
fighting arguingconsidering possible names, my ever-helpful Husby gave me a list from which to choose.
My Husby’s an historian. Did I mention that?
Moving on . . .
The list was seven pages long.
And included such classics as: Trophimus. Trogillium. Vafthrusdinal. Gundohar and Gundobad (If we should ever be blessed with twins.)
I see your face.
Mine sported a similar expression.
And I named our babies. Mark. Erik. Duff. Caitlin. Tiana. Tristan.
Now, I'm sure you’re wondering about the aforementioned tradition.
That comes here . . .
Because I was
rude ignorant smart enough to ignore his helpful advice, my uber-determined Husby started in on the next generation.
With one significant change.
Our children weren’t given a choice.
Nope. They were given a name.
One name per grandchild.
Oh, they chose their own names, too. The names that would appear on birth certificates and numerous and sundry other legal places throughout the child’s life.
But each of them have a Grandpa Name (hereinafter known as GN) as well.
Unofficial, but just as important.
Let me enlighten you. These are the names as they now stand:
Megan Sarah. GN: Cruchenperk
Kyra Danielle. GN: Ataxerxes
Odin Erik. GN: Dashley
Thorin James. GN: Ragnowinthe
Erini Tiana. GN: Salmanezer
Jarom Elliott. GN: Abindaraz
Bronwyn Bell. GN: Pintiquinestra
Linnea Viktoria. GN: Adrevalde
Hazel Jane. GN: Bardowick
Willow Victoria. GN: Cantabrie
Leah Brooke Rachelle. GN: Ettelwulf
Aksel Grant. GN: Burthred
William Duff. GN: Hieronymus
With each one, there’s been the usual angst. And the ‘Why don’t they use my good names?’ question.
Maybe you can answer that . . .