I forgot to mention this little blurb yesterday when at getting my eyes checked. No, not the part about waiting for my eyes to dilate and being forced to sit there listening to Dexy’s Midnight Runners. No one should have to endure that torture! No one!!!
As I was at the front desk turning in my paperwork, the lady behind the desk asked me if I was named after my grandfather. I looked a bit perplexed and answered ‘no’, and for some reason I offered that I was named after my father.
She goes on to tell me (not ask me), ‘but he’s 87 years old’. I kind of just stared at her. Clearly my father goes to this same eye doctor (what are the chances? apparently, pretty good) and she has his name up in the computer. Mind you – she didn’t ask if that was my father, but how many 87 year old’s with the same name could there possibly be?
Yes, my father is almost 88. I always say, I was a possible accident and my younger sister was a probable one. Or as Morty’s parents would call us: a pleasant surprise!
All of this was going on while I was completing my HIPAA form. The irony was not lost on me – though it was on her.
This wasn’t the first time my father’s and my medical records have been mixed up. Years ago, I requested them from my hometown doctor and got back some of my pediatric records mixed in with a lot of my fathers medical issues.
No, my oldest sister was named for my grandfather – not me.! And thank g-d. Like middle and high school weren’t bad enough. Can you imagine me going around with this name?
Sure, it works well for my sister – but they feminized it (shut up, all of you!) for her. But it would have just made me more of a target. No offense to my sister, but being named after this man is not a plus. He was kind of a prick – at first I thought to just his grandkids, but it really extended throughout his life.
I snapped this and the other pics in this post a week or so ago. On a whim I drove into a cemetery I pass a few times a month. It is all of two miles from our house, but I never drive in. Namely because weekend time is precious and of course, it is closed on Saturdays.
So, Denton and I went in – and finding the family plots was easy. They are all over the place. Names from all over my family tree buried in one place……well in a few places. This wasn’t a Kosovo grave site. I haven’t been here since a year after Adrian died. I went with my father to see if they had placed his headstone (they had not).
Both sets of paternal grandparents and their kin are buried here. Some in the ground, some in the family mausoleum. The crypt is pretty well full. Two spaces left – I’m assuming for Sonny and Bill. I’m planning on just having my body cremated, though I am fine with it being donated to medical school for student to do what they will with it. (see – I told you I thought a lot about death!)
And as much as I am grateful I wasn’t named for my grandfather, I realized I was only two or three generations from being named something much more nebbish with family names.
Song by: Cat Stevens