The Ron

Long before our daughter's conception, or even the preamble to the discussion during which we considered her conception, my husband and I spent many an evening kicking around possible names for our hypothetical young. In particular I remember a night out at a local Italian joint, peppered mightily by many glasses of red wine, that nearly devolved into mayhem as each of us incredulously received then outright rejected the other's suggestions.

I offered up what I considered to be the perfect mix of quirky and familial, Stella Wade. My husband Geoff snorted derisively. And again. SNORT, SNORT. For his part, Geoff proposed sugary waste like Britney and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Ok, that's a lie but only because I can't even remember the drivel he proffered. Neither can he for that matter - I know because I just asked him. I can't remember. That about sums it up.

A new favorite pastime ensued at our house. Find a category and exhaust ourselves considering any names associated therewith. Our beloved Colorado Avalanche was a repeat category but despite our adoration for the team, neither of us was wooed by th
e prospects of Sakic or Milan or Foppa. The situation was bleak until one day my husband half-heartedly tendered Theron. More accurately, Theoren (as in, Theoren Fleury) but for the record, it is pronounced Thair-In.

Sure, Theron is a masculine Greek name meaning 'hunter' but we couldn't bear to open up discussions EVER again and so we chose Theron for a boy or a girl and god help us if twins mucked up the works. When I actually got pregnant and we learned a daughter was on the way it was a small but potent relief to know her name was one detail we'd already handled. Sweet. This parenting thing is a breeze.

In hindsight I guffaw at our naiveté. What a quaint notion - we've picked our daughter's name and we love it and oh, singing birds and dancing squirrels. Cut to my baby shower - 8 months and counting in my pregnancy - when my mother-in-law sidled up to me cooing, I've been thinking what WE CAN DO with this name. I later discovered the genesis of this 'we'. Apparently the Friday night Mah Jong Mavens of Colorado Springs find Theron exotic in the way of LaFonda or Shaniqualita. Clearly an antidote was in order!

Yes, we named our beautiful, blue-eyed daughter after a miniature NHL'er whose remaining teeth were spared when he was forced out of the league by 'issues' with alcohol. At least we eschewed the fancy schmancy French-Canadian spelling for the phonetically friendly version. And she can always adopt a nickname like the one my uncle has all picked out for her.

The Ron.

The Ron, with no last name, of course. Like Madonna. Or Prince. Or Eminem. Or Her Royal Highness Goddess of the Universe. Like that. The Ron will strut and she will wupp the butt of any Kaya, Bode or Rain (hey, we live in a town full of unrecovered hippies) who dare laugh at her title. Remember that SHE. IS. A. HUNTER. And she will find you in your tie-dye Garanimals. She will be a king pin in her elementary school and sponsor an invitation only poker tourney on the playground.

Mah Jong is for pussies.


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home