Dan and I joke about naming Baby #3 something unexpected – unexpected for us, at least – like…Bob. Keats, Wren, and Bob. While this might satisfy a certain much older family member who lamented to another relative, \”Why couldn\’t they have chosen a nice, normal name like John or David?\” when we chose yet another unusual name after Wren\’s birth in 2014, doing so wouldn\’t satisfy us. Growing up with the respective names Daniel and Katie, we were both far from unique among our peers – in name, at least. In my seventh grade math class alone, I was one of three Katies. I went through school as Katie D., that last initial a crucial component in teachers ensuring that the correct Katie responded to questions, received the right test papers, etc.
Seeing parenthood in my future, I\’d contemplated names for hypothetical children over the years. Indeed, Dan and I had arrived at a girl\’s name early in our relationship, one conversation of the many in which a young couple can languish while dreaming of possibilities. A boy\’s name, though, was an entirely different entity. We didn\’t feel a strong pull toward any – \”we\” being the key word here. I had a long list going, the result of hours spent pouring over baby name websites. Dan was a tad picky. What we could agree on was this: we wanted a unique, meaningful name.
I was rooting for Tate, despite having previously had a guinea pig of this name. Dan and I had our first date at the Tate Modern in London. I loved the idea of naming our son – if we had a son – after a pivotal point in our lives. Dan wasn\’t keen on the name, although he liked its brevity. \”Tate\” was too similar to \”taint.\” Check on Urban Dictionary if you\’re unfamiliar with the alternate definition of this word, and you\’ll perhaps understand Dan\’s hesitation as he envisaged the nickname that could potentially plague our potential son in his school years.
While we mulled over names, May 12, 2012 arrived, as did our little boy – six weeks earlier than anticipated. We were out of time to decide upon a name.
On our short list was another name: Keats. In 2012, this name was given to approximately 4 in every one million babies born. The odds were strong that there would be no need for a last initial in math class. Keats resonated with both the writer and teacher in me. John Keats was a nineteenth century poet, a poet whose work I\’d briefly studied in AP English and whose English heritage seemed fitting to Dan and me. To continue the literary theme, Ezra Jack Keats was a well-known American children\’s writer and illustrator. His book The Snowy Day had featured into a presentation I\’d attended that had strengthened my professional understanding of the writing workshop model I had since passionately utilized in my teaching.
On day one, Dan was rooting for the name Keats; I was warming to it. I tentatively used it in a conversation with a nurse on the second or third day after Baby\’s birth, and I liked it. It seemed our baby had a name.
Strangely, my boys have grown into their names. Keats is my sensitive, introspective one, qualities befitting a poet. Wren? He\’s something else entirely – to be discussed in a later post. Even Baby #3 seems to be embodying the name we\’ve chosen. And no, I don\’t mean \”Bob,\” although that might be appropriate, given the current comfort of the watery world in which he lives. What is his name? Ah, well, that will remain a secret between Dan and me for a few more weeks.
To Palimpsest 