Naming Right

23rd September 2005

...........................................BABY LOVE

Fathers Log. Stardate 2005. 27 weeks on.

I’m happy to report that baby Kumara is well - alive and kicking. The other day I had my ear to Mrs Kumara’s tummy and I copped a beauty. What a kick. If it was, as I hope, a rugby kick - then it was definitely a winner from well over halfway. None of this ‘around the corner holding on to something weird’ shit like Johnny Wilkinson, this was a real old fashioned toe-hacker in the manner of Don Clark.
The ultra sound, we had recently, displayed the offending foot in all it’s unbearably cute glory.

He shoots.. He scores!!!

We also gazed in confused wonder at various bits and pieces and saw a blurry picture of a little face. It is a strange process - as the face and the baby, at the moment, represent an empty slate or an unfinished picture, but one which we are furtively colouring in ourselves. The Kumara’s like, most parents before them, have been engaging in a little premature speculation. Part hope, and in some part dread at what can go wrong. During the ultrasound we peeked cross-sectionally into the babies brain, probably for the first and last time. being partially jewish (see here) I wonder ;
What the hell will THAT thing come up with in the future?
Considering the sort of stuff my brain manufactures, I can only hope it takes after it’s mother

The baby name game also involves a degree of forward planning.
How will it sit:
In a list of famous All Blacks,

as a solo songwriter on the cover of a country album or in a newspaper headline.

Usually a name will not survive this scrutiny. For instance we both wondered about a Maori name and Mrs Kumara suggested ‘Wiremu’.
Wiremu means William in english, which soon became Billy.
As soon as it turned into Billy, it was in trouble. My fertile imagination projected into the future and I could hear it coming, ominously out of a school intercom:
“Can Billy Kumara please come to the headmasters office . . . . . . .
. . . again”
That bloody kid would spend so much time with the headmaster he would know him better than me. I can see it now; Mrs Kumara and I in front of the parole board trying to plead his case:
“yes. I’m afraid he was always a problem”
“When he was young we sent him to a Child Psychologist . . .
. . . But, that kid was no help at all”
Yes, Billy’s definitely a troublesome child and by the time he would get to be called a juvenile that word would surely be eventually joined by the word delinquent.

Does the name matter that much? Much is made of Nuture vs Nature debate but how does a name shape a person's future? I know it would seem unscientific to regard the child’s name as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy but there you have it. We ARE unscientific, it’s our bloody baby and Billy is out. Also anecdotal evidence from a discussion with a group of teachers would add weight to our name concerns.
“I’ve never met a Jason who wasn’t trouble”
"Sarah's are always lovely"
etc..
Some names seem to be so damn perfect it’s possible to imagine some sort of divine intervention played a part in the naming process.
Jimi Hendrix. How could that be better?
or Jonah Lomu
or Marlon Brando.
While some people's achievements have, over a lifetime, given their ordinary names power (John Wayne springs to mind). It's like these guys were born iconic, or as brands, or were named by a marketing team (Kevin Roberts).

Mind you some people's given names are unfortunate, and just plain wrong. Former bond girl (Live and let die) Jane Seymour was born Joyce Wilhemina Frankenberg and had the good sense to rename herself after one of Henry VIII many wives.
Personally, I would have preferred Catherine of Aragon because it is so dramatic sounding.
“and the oscar goes to . . . Catherine of Aragon!”
But whatever your perferences are, it can certainly be said Jane may have had a troubled career had she kept her original name. Similarly John Denver’s rocky mountain may not have climbed so high had he persevered with his original name - Henry Deuchendorf.

Lately at home we have been nesting and navel gazing. Mrs Kumara, being endlessly amused and surprised with her new body.
"its moving now come, quick"
"Where did that come from"
"What's this thing called love?"
Personally, I have gone straight to the heart of the matter and have been tallking to baby in utero. Mostly garbage of course but it is a baby after all and this will prepare it for all the goo goo's after it comes out.
You hear of people playing classical music and reading poetry and such to their kids so that they can have some sort of advantage later but I don’t want some bloody snobby kid or ghastly child prodigy. I have been educating the baby, culturally, by telling it what’s happening on Coronation Street and Desparate Housewives.
“that bloody cow's a throwback from Eastenders, She doesn’t belong.”
AND
“She loves him. How's that for a twist. junior?”
and I know once it grows up, one day I will find it revelling in a great crap programme on telly, and I will swell with pride.

As a part of the nesting process I have been looking for a few items on Trade Me. Sometimes the way people advertise stuff just cracks me up man, and I really wish I kept some of the photos and blurbs from the past, pre-blog, so that I could share the hilarity with y'all.
Once when looking for a car I saw a photo accompanying the auction that was SO far away I cried. The guy who took the photo was like at one end of a football field and the car was at the other, Brilliant!
There were a few polite comments like:
“can we please see a closer shot of the car please”
But I wanted to post a sarky one like.
“can you please post a photo of the car further away please because I want to see what it would look like from space”

FOR SALE. Toyota Corolla high km's some rust

Anyway the one from trade me this week is from the “Lounge Suites” section.
it reads: “Beautiful One Seater Sofa”
Hello! one seater sofa?!!? where I come from that would be called a chair, pal. Also, it’s bloody hideous AND they want $600 dollars for it.

"Beautiful one seater sofa"

I have been looking for furniture for a while and I swear, for every good piece of furniture made (you know simple clean lines, nice fabric. I’m not asking for too much) , there are approximately one thousand hideous ones.
Just in case you didn’t get the idea of the sofa they posted three photos. My favourite is the one below from the BACK of the seat. This is presumably the view from where the family have to sit because some idiot brought a sofa with only one seat.


So good and so funny. When life steers this sort of thing your way, you have to just give thanks and praise the world's strange ways and infinite variety.
Please say after me:
Aren’t people, even ones with crap names, great?