Clarification: To understand this, make sure you’ve read these posts first: This one, and this one. I am not thinking about baby names because I am pregnant or hoping to be. It’s actually rather sad. So. Anyway.
One of the first things Jesse and I ever agreed upon was what we’d name a son if we had one. David. We had years and years before sons would be actual concerns, but even before we started dating, we both knew what our “boy name” would be. When Jesse and I first started dating, we’d talk for hours and hours on the phone, about anything, everything. Baby names seemed as good a topic as any. We were sixteen and seventeen, and there’s something about the telephone that’s a little magical at that age. I hate telephones now and much prefer email. But that summer, it was rare we were without a phone pressed against our ears (thank Heaven we didn’t own cell phones yet–can you imagine?).
David is my brother’s name, and this was years ago, back when we still saw him every now and then, when he’d call Dad on weekends. I admired him more than just about anyone on the planet. Now, he doesn’t call, he’s hiding out somewhere in California, and who knows what he’s into, who he’s with, how many children he has. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I have a brother; sometimes it doesn’t feel like I do. But I still love the name, and somehow the bittersweet association adds depth to it–maybe it’s a little hope for redemption, a little bit of a second chance.
And on Jesse’s end of it, two reasons. First, because in the Bible, King David’s father was named Jesse. The name David is mentioned more than any other name in the Bible except for Jesus. David was flawed and imperfect, but more than anything else he loved God, and isn’t that the point, wasn’t his good made more realistic by his bad.
And second, because of Dave Rask. One of the most talented musicians Jesse’s ever known, one of the sweetest people. Someone who always had a kind smile, who could have been arrogant but wasn’t. So quiet, impossibly quiet. But such a good person. Who better to name a son after.
Now, the name has taken yet another meaning, another dimension, a tribute of sorts, a memorial, a meaning we never could have guessed a decade ago, talking on the phone, thinking we knew exactly how things would work out.
5 Comments
This has been a rough week. I keep thinking about what I need to do before I can’t do anything anymore. Everytime I think, “I need to work harder!” And then a little voice in my head says, “You’re working pretty hard.” And then another voice says, “Yeah, but you’re not getting anything done.” And then I sit on the couch and watch Hardball with Chris Matthews and get depressed. How are you doing, by the way? We should let our blogs play in a sandbox sometimes….
Yeah. It has been. I don’t think you need to work harder. You work plenty hard. I feel the same way sometimes too. I don’t work as hard as you do, though.
I’m doing okay. I have been really torn up lately over the Dave situation. Thinking about it, writing about it. You know how it is when you’re working on something that just kind of consumes you? I think I’ll be a lot better when I finish the piece I’m working on right now (about Dave). I was like this when I wrote the chapter on Sago (don’t think you read that?), about all those miners dying. It’s just hard, you know, when you write you’ve got to allow yourself to feel things on such a deep level. And it’s hard to turn the switch off when you walk away from the keyboard. I probably sound crazy right now, but I figure you’ll understand.
Anyway, sorry for the long response to a short question. How are you doing?
Our blogs should have a playdate. I’m not sure what that means or how to go about it. You’re more experienced with the whole blog thing, so you’ll have to enlighten me.
I can’t imagine naming and raising children in a world of cell phones and myspace and facebook and so forth. I really can’t.
I agree, Sabrina. Even my own childhood, not so long ago, seems antiquated by today’s standards. It’s hard to imagine any modern parent allowing a child to climb trees, ride bikes, or just be home alone after school. Back in the time before cell phone, I had to (gasp!) wear a watch and come home on time. I carried a house key and had to learn just a little bit of responsibility. Right now we are in the process of trying to convince Pete’s sister to allow her 13-year-old son to fly from Atlanta on a non-stop flight to visit us. Geez. I flew to San Fransisco by myself when I was 14. He will be FINE!
Sorry about the rant, which has nothing to do with what you’re going through right now. David is a beautiful name
Heart breaking and heart soothing all at the same time.