It’s funny how each generation has its names. These days you don’t meet many babies called Vera, or Eunice, though there must have been plenty of adorably little Veras a hundred years ago. And when it comes to boys, you don’t find many named Stanley, or Fred, or Walter, or George. But we have a George in our family. He’s the most recent arrival in a small tidal wave of grand-nephews with names that sound like those suave heroes in romance novels, Dillon, Cooper, Colton, Landon.
There were some friends with red faces when George arrived. Those were the friends who chuckled along for a while, and then begged George’s proud new father to stop his joking and tell them the baby’s real name.
“It’s George,” he insisted. “That’s my middle name. It is my grandpa’s name.”
Baby George! You don’t often hear it in 2007. It sounds funny at first. But it sounds much better when you pick him up and whisper it into the smooth skin on his silky little neck. The third time you say it, it sounds perfect. It sounds just as good as Baby Landon, and Baby Colton, and all the other babies. It sounds like the name of a suave and charming hero in a romance novel.
Next thing you know, little Georges will be popping up all over. Every generation has its names.
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