A good friend's daughter had her very first baby yesterday, January first. Not only did he arrive after a mere seven hours of labor, but he came in the middle of the afternoon, during visiting hours, which was also thoughtful and considerate on his part.
So what do I find so amusing about the blessed event, given that his parents lucked out in so many ways -- an easy birthday to remember, a short labor, and a daylight arrival?
His folks didn't tell anybody what his name would be ahead of time. They insisted we would all have to wait. So I was expecting a kid with a moniker he'd have to defend every day on his way to school. Like Fauntleroy. Or Euphemia, which is a girl's name, but there are already several Euphemias in the family, so it could happen. Or they could step outside the box and call him Arabica Bean, after his parents' favorite coffee. Or Stone Harbor, a favorite family vacation spot -- an actual suggestion from one of his grandmas. As possible names go, it wasn't looking good.
Luckily, he will be called something safe -- Evan, which I happen to know is the Welsh version of JOHN. After digesting this middle of the road, easy to live with designation, I realized what his mom and dad had done.
Evan, which, to review, is the Welsh version of JOHN, joins his father, Sean, which is the Irish version of JOHN, and his uncle, Ian, which is Scottish for JOHN, and his grandfather, JOHN, which is English for, um, JOHN.
Very funny. What's next? Gianni, Johann, Juan? Or will they take "john" in a men's room direction and call the next boy any one of hundreds of options hanging on the doorways of bathrooms around the world: Gent, Guy, Monsieur, Hombre, Stallion. . .