Kallan has a short homework assignment on the history and meaning of names. She is supposed to do some research on the meaning and origin of her own name, select four names she might use for future children, and then select a name for herself that she might like to have if her actual name was no longer available. Choosing the names of possible future children turns out to be fraught with difficulty, and I have already grown so irritated with the whole discussion I have suggested she name my future grandchildren Poohead, Buttface, Snickerdoodle, and Fartsmooth.
Kallan cocks her head and glares at me, “Fartsmooth? Mom, this is my very first homework assignment of the year and I need your help. Why are you so crabby? This does not bode well for you. Bad bodings indeed.”
I snap the towel I am folding, “You are just so ridiculous. Your teacher asked you to come up with four names . . . just write down four names and be done with it. Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”
“Mom, you don’t understand anything.”
“Oh, I understand,” I hold up fingers as I list off what I understand, “You refuse to use the name of any person at your school or any person with whom you have ever gone to school. You refuse to use the names of anyone who is currently famous or who has ever been famous. You refuse to use old-fashioned names. You refuse to use names anyone you have ever known has ever named a pet. You refuse to use names of any character in a book or a movie your classmates might recognize. You refuse to use the names of any family member. You refuse to use names that you might actually at some point want to use for a pet. You refuse to use names that sound foreign. You refuse to use names that are hard to spell. You refuse to use names that will require you to offer any sort of explanation to your classmates whatsoever about why you chose those names.” I am now holding up all ten fingers, “That about it?
“What’s your point?”
“Just stop talking to me about this.”
There is silence for a few minutes, and then Kallan looks up, “How do you spell Crystal?”
Without thinking, I start to spell out the word, but then I stop and shake my head, “No way are you naming my future granddaughter Crystal.”
She waves a reassuring hand, “No, I’ll do the kids’ names later when you are less cranky. So how do you spell Crystal?”
I stare at her, “Please tell me you are not naming yourself Crystal.”
“Why not?”
“Ummm . . . because it is a stripper name, that’s why not.”
Kallan glares at me, “I’ll just write that down in the space where they ask me why I chose this name. Because I want to grow up to be a stripper.”
“So annoying.”
She taps her pencil thoughtfully, “Now I need a good middle name. Oooh . . . Rose!”
“Seriously? Crystal Rose? Could you be any trashier, you think?”
“Later, I am going to call Grandma Rose and tell her you think her name is trashy.”
“Whatever. Be sure to tell her about the Crystal thing.”
“I wish Grandma was here to help me with my homework.”
“Yeah, Grandma is a big help when it comes to names. She wanted you to be named Uma. Oooh . . . use that . . . it just rolls off the tongue . . . like a good stripper name should . . . Crystal Uma.”
Kallan presses hard with her pencil, spelling out loud as she goes, “K-R-I-S-T-I-L-L R-O-S-E, and then she looks up at me, “You just don’t want me to be normal.”
“Yeah, because all that’s standing between you and normalcy is a stripper name.”
She smiles happily, “There, now my name is you and Grandma together.”
“Wait, what?”
“Kristill Rose.”
“I am going to barf.”
She ignores me, “OK, and now I need a good last name. What are the names of some jewels?”
“You are killing me right now.”
She muses aloud, “Diamond? Ruby? Aquamarine? Mom, what’s the name of a green jewel? I like green.”
“Emerald.”
“Nah . . . what else?”
“Peridot?”
She writes it down, spelling as she goes, “P-A-R-I-D-O-U-G-H.”
I sigh, “Let me just get this straight. We spent 30 minutes discussing names for possible future children with an aim to choosing names that would draw absolutely no attention to you whatsoever when you discussed them in class, but your own name is going to be Kristill Rose Paridough?”
“What’s your point?”
“Two days into the school year, and I am exhausted. I guess that’s my point.”
She smiles, “That does not bode well for you.”
Indeed.
