Mort (Kid Stuff)

One of my earliest memories dances over my mind as Dad comes home from work.  For a period of time, I would hear the car coming into the driveway and hide behind the front door.  Even now I can feel my eyebrows narrow, waiting and waiting for the door to open.  And when it did, I would spring with all my might and grab Dad just above the knee in a giant bear hug.  And just like clockwork, he would feign surprise, look around, and say:

“Is that you Mort?”

I’d giggle and say “no”.

“It must be Gus then.”

“Uuh, uuh.”

“OK then.  Well it must be Cecil!”

“No Dad!  It’s me.  Doug!”

And he’d smile, give the top of my noggin a gentle noogie, and off we went.

Now, I think my Dad understood the essence of a good name.  For his given name was Chester.  But down deep I don’t think he ever fully came to terms with that moniker.  He went by Chet and always seemed somewhat chagrined when labeled Chester.  He told of a much earlier time when his brother Wally, in a typical sibling spat, had called him out – “You’re just a dumb ol’ chestnut”.  And with some degree of pride, Dad related how he shot back - “Yeah, well you’re just a dumb ol’ walnut”.   So much of our identity, our self, is tied up into one or two syllables.    

It’s not uncommon at our family gatherings for someone to reminisce about my Great Grandfather.  He came from Sweden and his surname was Peterson.  He traveled by steamship from across the water with any number of other Scandinavians.  And upon arriving in America he became aware of the cultural differences with immigrants of other nationalities already here. One sticking point seemed to be his name.  He was one of many, many son’s”, i.e. Anderson, Nelson, Swanson, Larson, Hanson, etc.  So, he and his closest friend decided to change their names.  As they came west, they drew straws at the top of a mountain pass (the name of the pass changes with every telling).  And from that moment forward, the friend was transformed into a Weston.  And Great Grandpa Peterson would forever be known as Easton – and all to follow.  And at this point of the story, someone at our get-together will inevitably ask with a tinge of exasperation, “Why would he do that?  Peterson is a great name!”   Of course, there is no answer to that other than tradition holds that they thought the new names sounded more “American”.  But I’ve always had a different take – I think they were running from the law.

So, given that genetic background, it comes as no surprise that “Doug” never quite lived up to my image of myself.  Or perhaps my image never lived up to the name.  Regardless, there was a disconnect.  And somewhere before that age when a boy becomes a man, I briefly considered changing my name to something that would eliminate that disconnect.  Perhaps Chester Peterson or Peter Chesterson would do the trick.  Boy, I do like those names.  But upon closer inspection it became apparent that my problem wasn’t with the name.  My problem was with the image of the man.  And that was messy.

But as time progressed, I began to realize that the man, or the image thereof, that guy that never quite lived up to expectations – that same man had been saved by a loving God.  So, perhaps I needed to forgive myself as well and come to peace with the man that God had designed and created.  But let me tell ya – that was a process, make that a battle, and it continues to this day.

Nonetheless, I take great comfort in the thought that I am identified in the Book of Life.  For I believe that my name is written within.  Yes, even a wretch like me among the saints.

Now, in fact, I have no idea of what heaven will look like or how it will be.  My mind cannot fathom.  But this much I believe with all my heart.  I will be with my Savior.  He will know me and call me by name.

“Doug” will be glory.

But “Mort” might make me giggle with glee.

Link:  Names (Psalms and Prayers)