Starts with K

I have some thoughts about babies. And middle names. And the importance of both.

In many families, the middle name is sort of a formality; an obligation, if you will. Does it sound good? Cool. We're using it.

Not my family.

Both of my brothers have the middle name "Cletus." It was their father's name; he died unexpectedly when they were 6 and 4, and my mom was five months pregnant with my sister.

Clete came from a large Catholic family; my mom was Presbyterian. Clete's middle name was Francis, which he hated with a passion.

Mom was strangely prophetic in those days pre-ultrasound, and felt she was having a girl. She wanted to name the child Mary Francis, keeping the traditional "male" spelling, and appeasing his Catholic family.

Absolutely not, Clete said. "We'll find something else."

Then he died.

So my mom did a very unusual thing for the time: She didn't give the little girl a middle name at all. My sister was Mary (LastName).

Still, it didn't seem that unusual to us; Mom claimed she didn't have a middle name either, and had adopted her maiden name, Haines, as her middle name when she married. (Knock yourselves out, identity thieves – she's not my password.)

When I started having babies, family names were important -- even though I JUST NOW WHILE WRITING THIS realized I didn't get a family middle name. My first name is a common middle name, and my uncommon middle name is Colleen. (Keep trying, identity thieves.)

My oldest son has his paternal grandmother's maiden name.

My second son has just an initial, representing both grandfathers.

My fourth son got my mom’s maiden name.

But that third boy, Benjamin Thomas, who ended up with that name by default. For the months leading up to his birth, I had the name Cooper Leo picked out for a boy. Leo was my dad's middle name, and I like it. Cool. We're using it.

But on our way into the delivery room, his father made a confession: "I don't really like the name Cooper."

We can skip the disbelief/anger about the timing of it all.

Just kidding. Let’s talk about it.

"You wait until NOW to tell me you 'don't really like it?' What the hell? Now what do we do?"

His father liked the name Benjamin, I didn't hate it; I'm unclear what happened to Leo.

I just know that we came out of that operating room with a Benjamin Thomas – who for his entire childhood listened to his parents explain his brothers' names ... until they got to his name.

There was no satisfactory explanation. None.

He wasn't the only kid who listened to the stories; his brothers did, too. Specifically, his oldest brother, Jacob.

Whenever the topic came up, Jacob would say, "Don't worry, Ben. I'll name my first child after you. Then it'll be a family name."

Like, from the time Jacob was 10, he was saying that. We always smiled or laughed, knowing Ben was well and truly loved, even if he got left out of the middle name game.

Fast forward 25 years. After a heroic labor and delivery, our beautiful daughter-in-law, Martha, delivered our eighth grandchild.

She was their first child, and I wept when I met her: Vivian Benjamin Fate.

She could not possibly be more loved, especially by a certain uncle, whose heart she will forever hold.

I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about my first grandchild, No. 2 Son’s boy, who is now somehow 15 years old.

His name? Cooper. His dad was listening, too.