My name was almost Ty.

Mom wanted to name me Ty.

Dad wanted to name me Thomas.

The argument continued into the pre-delivery room.

By the time I was cognizant of what constituted the parental units fighting, mom and dad could have some doozies.  I never knew dad to hit mom, and mom says he never did, but I remember the night he had the want in his eye.  It was the night mom and us three kids slept in a hotel.  When we got back the next day, every dish in the house was broken.  Yea, mom and dad could fight.  I suspect the name fight was not more than stubbornness run amuck.

RL, my daddy, had a buddy while he was in the service.  His name was Tom.  Dad name his first born after himself and wanted to name his second born son after his service buddy.  Dad and Tom were sharp shooters in the Marine Corps.  Daddy always bragged he could light a match with a rifle at one hundred yards.  I never saw the trick.  I did see him make a bottle of Stoli disappear in a hundred shots.  I saw that trick a lot.

Daddy may have loved Jesus, but he drank.  I don't know when it started but I have a pretty good idea that it was an issue for him while he was in the service.  He was a Corporal, until the morning following the night he and Tom, and some other buddy who has remained nameless all of these years, got a little tipsy [will I have Black Ops come after me because I posted that Marines get 'tipsy'?] and decided to play a little game at some construction site on base.  They stood nameless in front of a sheet of plywood, Daddy took the left side, and Tom took the right.  They pulled their service revolvers, started at the outside of his feet, meet at the top of his head--they shot an outline of nameless into the plywood.  The next morning, Daddy wasn't a Corporal any more.

I can understand that they bonded.  I see Dad's side of the name argument.  Mom, thank goodness, stood her ground, and would not agree to name her son Thomas.

photo by: Stephen Reddell

It was Aunt Rita who provided the end game.  While visiting mom in hospital, dad started in on the debate agin.  Aunt Ri, watching out for her older sister, stepped in a insisted that time had ran out and that the argument be settled once and for all.  Mom, in what I am sure was a loving and caring tone since she was just hours away from popping a 10+ pounder, repeated her insistence that if I were a boy I would not be named Thomas.  Dad said, "And I am telling you that my next son IS going to be named after Thomas Kirkpatrick, the best friend I have ever had."  Aunt Rita said, "Perfect!"  You both win.  Name him Kirk Patrick.

I love my mom.  I love my Aunt.  And, I love my name.