Blue is not your name. It’s only a nickname, something we’ve called you ever since we read you were the size of a blueberry during the first trimester. You became our little Blue Blue from that day forward, even as you grew in size and became an apple, then an orange and a pomegranate. By the time you are ready to join the world, you’ll be a cantaloupe.
You have a real name, and I’ll never say it here out of respect for your privacy. Your mother and I spent a long time making a good name for you. I will tell you, however, a name you will not be called.
Your mother, in her quest to find a unique, heroic name, turned to science fiction. The funny thing is that she is not the science fiction geek of the family. I am. So when she became inspired by Star Wars and wanted to name you Jedi, I put my foot down. Being a nerd, I knew that this was a path to almost certain disaster.
So I tried pulling a Ben Kenobi. “This is not the name you’re looking for,” I told your mother.
She was unfazed. “Jedi is a cool name! He will stand for justice!”
“He will stand in the back of a gym locker!”
“It’s a good name. It can be short for a Jedidiah.”
“Cool. So then he’s a redneck, too.”
Credit where credit is due. Your mother stuck to her guns, clinging to the noble idea that Jedi would be a name that meant honor, respect and heroism. I, and nearly everyone else who listened to our arguments, knew it would be a name that meant “Yeah…I don’t know what my parents were thinking.”
In the end, Blue, we were able to compromise. That’s the art of any relationship. Compromise. If you don’t have that in your heart, it doesn’t matter what the disagreement is over. Star Wars names. Finances. Where you’re going to live. There’s always a give and take. She would relent on naming you Jedi. That was my give. The take?
She gets to name the dog Jabba.