A Name

My father’s name is William Sidney Poston. There was no chance of my becoming a junior simply because my mother did not think it sounded “Presidential.” These were the expectations placed upon me in utero, and I don’t believe my mother ever had a doubt.

I assume that she secured my father’s consent by giving me the first name of William. Not that anyone can imagine him having an objection to another name, or any other idea she has ever had. Maybe that is why they have been married for sixty-two years. He learned early on to pick his battles – and we are still waiting for him to pick the first one.

Joseph is my middle name. This comes from mom’s side of the family. Her father and grandfather were both Joseph Benjamin Benes. While William Joseph Poston may have sounded like a future president, Mom didn’t quite think through the nicknames. Thankfully, I have avoided being called “Billy Joe” for my entire life while embracing Billy. A double redneck name is just a bridge too far. After all, we’ve never had a President Billy Joe.

My younger brother’s name is Robert. That set us up as an alliterative pair: Billy and Bobby. And it might have ended there if not for the surprise brother number three. (I hope that it is not news to him that he was unplanned.) With little forethought and a limited supply of acceptable family names, my youngest brother became Benjamin. From that point on, there was constant confusion. Billy, Bobby, and Benjy was just too much for my poor grandmother to keep straight, especially if we were frustrating her, which was often.

To make matters worse, my other first cousins were Deena, Danny, and David in one family, and Sandra and Sean in another. Only the Benes clan broke the pattern with Cindy, Debbie, and Michael. Rebels!

Speaking of my cousins, when we were two or three, Debbie had a hard time saying my first name, and I became “Bully”. That only lasted until all her teeth came in, but I was excited to revive it when my first grandchild came along. You can’t leave the selection of a grandpa name to chance. I am now happily called Bully again. I think it sounds pretty presidential.