I'm in Israel for two weeks (which is weird and very cool) so I can't write new posts. Next week I'm having a guest blogger (don't miss it) but this week I thought I'd give you a few fun and/or (hopefully) thought-provoking excerpts from my book that just came out. So here you go:
Twenty weeks into our first pregnancy we learned that we were having a boy. We got out a blank piece of paper and started writing down potential names. This is difficult business. We applied a variety of tests. #1: The “Has my wife ever dated someone with this name?” test. #2: The “How will other kids make fun of him?” test. Trajan was one of my favorites until my wife pointed out the obvious condom association. #3: The “What does the name actually mean?” test. We had settled on “Cade” until my wife learned it means “Lumpy.” “There is no way I’m having a son named Lumpy!” she yelled. I considered this ironic since her name is Porky, but I didn’t mention that. (Okay, her name isn’t Porky, but that would be totally ironic.) #4: The “Banana Fana” test. We sang each name out in song, “Cade, Cade, Bo, Bade, Banana Fanana, Fo Fade, Me, Mi, Mo, Made – Cade!” The purpose of the test is to see if the name leads to cursing. This test eliminated Mitch, Buck, and, of course, Fastard. #5: The “Pig Latin” test. We had to make sure the name sounded cool in Pig Latin because some day Pig Latin will be our national language. (When it does, tell ‘em Incevay Ntonucciaay told you first.)
Growing up, I had a vague sense that something was not right about my name. Something seemed off about my identity. I couldn’t explain it. I wasn’t sure why I felt that way.
Finally, the answer came out. Actually, the answer came down … from my mother’s attic.
[want to read more? buy the book!]
- featured on newchurches.com
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