Nomenclature Redux

Steve, one of my oldest friends, made me smile with this piece from a recent note: "I was also reading Charlie's blog (I hope that's alright that I call him Charlie) and it occured to me that I don't know your middle name. Would you care to enlighten me, because it's gonna bug me until you do."

On the latter point, I am Jason Peter Leary. We knew we didn't want him to be a junior; we never discussed why but we both felt that way, but perhaps it was so he could be his own person right away. When Lisa came upon Charles, it felt right for a few reasons. I mentioned how my father was touched by our naming Charlie after his middle name, but that doesn't capture the strength of the emotions.

That single gesture created a bond between grandparent and grandchild even before birth. I know this because the Peter of my name was my grandfather's middle name, and that's a connection I have always cherished. It's the perfect connection for a grandparent: quiet and subtle, like receiving some secret gum or some quarters for video games or an ice cream between two scofflaws, something that the parents don't know about and shouldn't. This is nice.

More on the name: my parents decided they would call him J. Grandparents come with certain privileges, and special names fit that bill. I actually call him Jason sometimes because I don't want that to be so foreign for him. I also don't want this child having 55 names. Then again, what's the harm in 55 names if that means 55 special relationships with positive people?