March 30, 1975, changed my life forever. Our first child, David, was born. Back in the seventies when a baby was born, it was potluck. There were no procedures for determining if your child was a boy, or a girl, or if they would have all their parts. You got what you got.
While it’s true ultra-sound gender determining technology was available in 1959, it hadn’t made its way to Kalamazoo’s Bronson Hospital where David was born. Ruth and I discussed both male and female names for weeks and weeks. We wanted names that would stand the test of time. We didn’t want anything too trendy like River or Scout. Several good names were rejected because, as teachers, we had a history with unruly kids with perfectly good names. We didn’t want to jinx ourselves by choosing a name with a negative history. Since we needed both a male and female name, the process took longer.
I was an advocate for Anthony and Elizabeth or Jennifer. If we chose to shorten Anthony, we could call him Tony. I envisioned him looking like the Oscar Meyer Wiener boy with dark curly hair. Tony would have suited such a face very well, but as Ruth pointed out there was no guarantee our son would have dark curly hair. Our child, no matter the gender, would be fifty-percent Dutch. There were not a lot of dark, curly haired Dutchmen roaming the streets of Kalamazoo.
We wanted a middle name too, so we discussed initials as well as names. Mine are R.A.T. and, although no one made fun of them, we knew name calling could always rear its ugly head. We reviewed each option, including possible nicknames, potential initial acronyms, and decided strong, traditional names would suit our family best.
Ruth like Michael for a boy but I vetoed it. Michael was the name of her last boyfriend, so I just said, “No.” We both like David, so we agreed that would be his name should our baby be a boy. We decided Elizabeth would work best if we had a daughter. Two years after David was born, we did indeed have our Elizabeth. Sixteen months after she was born, I had matured, and our Michael was born.
The decision to name our eldest David was a good one. We added the middle name of Anthony to honor my dad. Ruth’s dad’s name was Roelof, so there was no expectation that he’d be honored in our lineage. David Roelof doesn’t roll off one’s tongue, so we never really considered it.
Choosing names is a big deal. I was just hours short of being named Danny Lee. I’m grateful my parents had a last-minute change of heart and went with Robert Allen.
I believe David is happy with his. The name has biblical roots and means “beloved”. Although Ruth and I didn’t discuss the origin, or its meaning, prior to his birth, it suits him well. After forty-seven years we’re happy with the name we chose, and the man he’s become.