Just a Name

Have you ever lived in a Southern city with a name like “Fred?” Have you ever even wondered what is in a name? Well, let me tell you, school was a constant rehash of Flintstone and frog questions that never ended. I don’t think I went one day without one sad little prick making some damn joke. I would equate it to walking down the street in Boulder, Co with long hair and not being asked a question about the Grateful Dead. Like the fat kid in dodgeball, I didn’t stand a chance.

Even after school, I considered changing my name, but I considered the time it would take me to get new checks. I’d also have to replace all the “I’m with Fred” t-shirts I have bought for my future girlfriends, and that was just too much to even consider. I’m the Fred that was and ever will be.

These days it’s not so bad. I have come to accept that I’ll always have to say “Hi, I’m Fred. No, really. It’s Fred. Yes, they really named me Fred.” during almost every social introduction. I have accepted being called Frank by most people since no one can fathom there is more then one name starting with and “F” for humans. I’ve even resolved myself to knowing that I may never, ever befriend a man named Barney and not have the world collapse into pee releasing laughter. It’s all good. What’s in a name? Thirty years of justifiable homicide for the next jackass that calls my date “Wilma.”

Hello bored web-surfer, I’m Fred. No, really. It’s Fred. Yes, they really named me Fred.