This post might land me in hell, but the quest for a laugh right here and now trumps the threat of sanctions waiting in the afterlife.
A recent post on Fark.com about unusual names for children teleported me right back to the old school days. The year – 19XX. Vague, I know. Let’s just say this happened after Pac-Man, before Rubik’s cube, in a grammar school somewhere around Middle America.
It was the day following parents-meet-the-teachers night. I stepped off the bus. A scrawny kid ran, stopped, and punched me in the stomach. Fortunately, his slight build and my shield of blubber limited the damage. The assault was a shock more than anything else. “You suck!� he said.
Once the dust settled, I asked him: why the hate? He explained. Our respective parents had a very unsettling introduction the night before; it had to do with names.
In anticipation of the visit, each child block printed their name on a card and placed it on their desk. This way parents could find the actual seat their child occupied by day. Very thrilling, right? Now, some kids – like me – realized that despite what others in school might have said my name was, now was not the time for the street version, or nicknames. Only a full zorch straight from the birth certificate transcription would do.
But, my assailants first name was Christopher. Everyone called him Chris, not Christopher. So, he recorded his first name as Chris.
As my mother searched, she came across his card before mine. His full name caught her attention immediately. In fact, she found it so amusing, she summoned for my father.
“Check this kid’s name out!â€? said Mom.
“Chris….Coe.â€? said Dad.
“Get it? Chris Coe…Crisco! The cooking oil….Crisco…bahahaha. How could they name their kid like that?â€?
My father laughed, too. He laughed at least twice a year.
A finger tapped at my mother’s shoulder. Behind them, a young couple, with matching pissed off expressions. “Hi,â€? said the woman. “We’re the Coes.â€?
