NAMES, Names, names.

Let's talk names since the name at the very top of this blog isn't one that you would normally expect to see.

My grandfather was born on the 23rd of the month. He was named Benjamin Lawrence. My father was also born on the 23rd. He was named Benjamin Beryl. He was not a junior! The name was completely different than his father's name

Then I came along on the 19th of the same month. Of course, my mother had slipped and fallen several days earlier getting water from their outdoor water pump which might account for why I was early.

But, as it turns out, I'm the only one in my immediate family born under my astrological sign. Both my father and grandfather are in the next sign over, as is my son, both my living sisters (one sister who died as a baby had a birthday seven months later), and my brother. No wonder why I feel like an outcast sometimes.

Now, according to stories told to me by my mother, my father didn't much care for being named after his father; he wasn't a junior, and yet he got called that a lot. As I recall, he didn't much like the diminutive, Benny, that everyone called him to distinguish him from his father. So when they named me, they wanted a name that had no nicknames. So, they named me after a friend of the family whose name wasn't supposed to have any nicknames. I believe that I have even met the guy many years ago.

But when it came to nicknames, boy, were they wrong. Big time! And I hated most of the nicknames I was called. I find it interesting that I have very little to no contact with anyone who remembers those nicknames. I wonder sometimes if that is intentional.

Bob and Tom had a female comedienne (am I repeating myself, there?) on the show who was going to have a baby. She had a friend who gave her advise on naming the child. His theory was that any name that he could make up a nickname for wasn't what she should name her child. He made up some terrible nicknames, but most weren't as bad as what I was called.

I've always thought it interesting that in French and Spanish, instead of saying, "My name is..." they say, "I call myself..." Only in English do we place that much importance on the moniker that our parents, or the state, bestows upon us.

I always liked the Indian tradition of giving baby names, and then having the child go on a name quest to determine their own adult name.

I also find it interesting that within my circle of siblings, three of the four have changed at least the spelling of their names.

Now, there was one "legitimate" nickname that I still answer to. But over the years, I've dated women who didn't like my name or my "legitimate" nicknames, so they called me by my middle name. And I liked it. This happened often enough that when I moved back to Wisconsin, I dropped all of my first name but the first initial and started using my middle name exclusively.

Whenever I get a call, I can tell the period of time in my life when I knew the person who is calling.

But there's a fly in the ointment.

Most people figure that I started using my first initial and middle name to drive computers and computer programmers crazy. Most systems aren't set up to handle J. Edgar Hoover; at best he becomes J E Hoover.

When my company has to deal with insurance companies and the like, interesting things happen. My insurance contract started out for Benjamin H. When I called the error to the attention of my HR contact, my name then got changed to Benjamin B (my father's name, BTW). Finally, I became H B which is as close to reality as the computer can get. Isn't that scary? If you don't fit into some programmer's vision of reality, you don't exist.

But that's not the fly I'm referring to.

Back when I was still using a nickname, my son was born on the 22nd of the same month as his great-grandfather, his grandfather, and his father. It seemed only natural that he be named after both his grandfathers, Benjamin and John, IE. Benjamin John. No junior! There was no way in hell I was going to saddle him with my first name. So he had a completely different name than all three of the preceding generations of sires.

But what do we call him, now? We're back to the same question that drove my father to do what he did. Will the outcomes remain the same?

Now, I have to apologize to my son. I really didn't give too much thought to how my using my middle name would affect him. My daughter gave me some grief about it, but my son keeps his own council. I still don't know how he feels about it. And I apologize for that.

I explained the name situation to one of my doctors recently when Ben was there. The doctor thought the situation was unique and wondered what there was going on nine months earlier to trigger four generations being born within four days of one another. But other than that, not a big deal.

And part of my point in the whole matter is that, as individuals, we are unique, each and every one of us. No matter what the name, no matter what order the initial is in. I get incensed when someone suggests that we have to fit a specific mold.

I've gone on scuba excursions with Ben and his friends. We simply told them to call one of us Benjamin and the other Ben. It worked out pretty well.

And it's not as if we won't look to see who the person is talking to when they call "Hey, Ben!" I find myself still turning when I hear a child calling for "Daddy!" Some habits are very hard to break.

So, in response to Cuz's comment about "Ben Jr.," let's not go there because he isn't a junior. How about just calling me H. Ben and calling my son Benjamin John, or maybe Benjamin J., or even Ben J if you can't type that much? Or maybe Ben, the younger as opposed to Ben, the elder. We'll get the idea without having to resort to "Junior."

Anyway, I hope that clears up any confusion about my family and the names we use.