Backstory to a Name
May. 16th, 2014 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947“Teach me?” Scout said in surprise.
“He hasn’t taught me anything, Miss Caroline.
Atticus ain’t got time to teach me anything,” she added
when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head.
“Why, he’s so tired at night
he just sits in the living room and reads”.
“If he didn’t teach you, who did?” Miss Caroline asked.
“Somebody did. You weren’t born reading The Mobile Register!”
“Jem says I was,” Scout continued.
“He read in a book where I was a Bullfinch instead of a Finch.
Jem says my name’s really Jean Louise Bullfinch,
that I got swapped when I was born and I’m really a...”
(To Kill A Mockingbird: Harper Lee – 1960)
Grace Harper was born to Prisa and Joe McDorman on Sunday, March 30, 2014 at 1:26 PM. Her delivery was a little earlier than expected, and she weighed only 5lbs 14 oz, and was 18 inches long. After catching only a brief glimpse of mother and baby as they were wheeled to the maternity section of Torrance Memorial Hospital, we finally visited them at about 5:00. The infant in Prisa’s arms was a small hooded bundle, swaddled in the pink and blue delivery blankets they use in all maternity wards. Her eye slits were barely opening, and she still had that flushed, ruddy look that newborns have.
“Not a blondie, like Sarah,” Prisa said, sliding back the pink and blue striped knit cap to reveal a remarkable amount of feathery, dark hair. She quickly told us that the baby was doing fine and seemed more inclined to eating and sleeping than crying.
“The only time she cries is when we wake her up to change her diapers”.
Finally reunited with her mommy, Sarah was suddenly less apprehensive, and became curious of the new baby everyone had been anticipating for such a long time.
“Can I hold her, mommy?” she asked, peeking through the collapsible sidebars of the bed.
“Not yet, honey,” Prisa said gently, reaching over to caress the top of her head. “Maybe when we’re home and your sitting in your special reading chair”.
“Would you like to hold her, Kathy?” Joe asked, taking the baby from Prisa’s arms and depositing the bundle into her grandmother’s arms.
“Oh my God!” Kathy exclaimed when she looked down at the small bundle. “She’s so tiny. She’s a peanut!”
To which Sarah protectively replied, “No she’s not! She’s not a peanut! She’s my baby sister, Gracie.”
When it was my turn to hold her, all I could do was repeat her name silently.
“Grace Harper McDorman, Grace Harper McDorman… What a powerful name for such a tiny, special girl”.
I really can’t remember the first books Prisa read on her own as a child. Kathy and I read to her regularly as an infant, and she was always close by when we read to Toñito, her older brother. She could recite the words to Go Dog Go, Hop On Pop, and One Fish, Two Fish; Red Fish, Blue Fish when prompted with the pictures on the pages, but I was never sure when she actually decoded on her own. I’ve always suspected that she read independently at a much earlier age than she let on. You see Toñito was the reading prodigy. By the age of 3 he could read through the books of Dr. Seuss, P.D. Eastman, Maurice Sendak, and Stan Berenstain, and as soon as Prisa was old enough to listen, Toñito was dutifully reading to her, as well. He would say the words and sentences, and then have her repeat the letters, words, and numbers as he pointed them out. At first, Prisa saw these interactions as play and participated fully. However, it eventually became apparent that she was backing off more and more, and ceding to Toñito the practice of those skills at which he seemed expert. Toñito was the independent reader, the student who mastered numbers and strategy games, and solved puzzles quickly and easily. Prisa seemed to stay clear of those areas that Toñito monopolized, and gravitated to the more readily available ones, such as socializing, building friendships, and playing team sports. I see this now, through the glass of hindsight, but at the time, I was too preoccupied with moving forward with their development. I ascribed their different strengths and interests as natural for a boy and girl of different ages, and Kathy and I continued promoting their intellectual, athletic, and developmental growth.
During their elementary school years, getting Toñito excited about moving from children’s books to more adult literature was easy. I simply brought him with me to buy books at new or used bookstores and pointed out the many genres he could choose from. He was immediately up and running around from room to room, and department to department, inspecting books of every subject and field. In that rich literary environment, I also showed him the books and novels that excited me in grade school, high school, and college – especially in the areas of fantasy and science fiction. Prisa was another story. While she always wanted to be included in these excursions to comic and bookstores, she assumed a bored posture toward the books and genres I recommended. She would eventually meander into the music and video departments of the store and spend her time there. If pressed to select books to buy, she would ignore my recommendations and choose books by “kiddie lit” authors, like Beverly Cleary’s Ramona stories. While Prisa had clearly mastered all the essential reading skills, and applied them to school and homework, she wasn’t inclined to do much personal reading at home, and certainly nothing I recommended. I was at the point of giving up, when I decided to try one more thing. And my memory of the story goes like this:
Prisa was in the 6th or 7th grade when I came across an old, worn copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, in our home library. Thinking back on my first encounter with the Pulitzer Prize winning novel in high school, I recalled how the story grabbed my attention, excited my interest, and sparked my indignation at the injustices of segregation. Seeing the movie with Gregory Peck in 1962 only made the book better. The movie helped me visualize the fascinating characters in the novel, Atticus, Scout, Jem, Dill, and Boo Radley, and painted a vivid picture of the tired, old town of Maycomb, Georgia, where the story took place. Pulling the dusty paperback from the bookcase, I walked to Prisa’s bedroom, where she was sitting at her desk.
“Prees,” I said, placing the paperback on the desk. “I know you don’t like it when I recommend books to you, but here’s one you might want to look at. There’s a character in it named Scout who reminds me a lot of you. She has an older brother who annoys her, she gets involved in all kinds of adventures, and she is something of a tomboy. They also made a movie of it, and we could get the video if you’d like to see it first. I’m pretty sure you’ll like the movie, but believe me when I say that the book is even better”.
Prisa listened patiently, and even picked up the paperback and looked at its front and back cover. But her only response was a non-committing, “Thanks, Dad.”
We eventually saw the movie together as a family. When it was over, I made one more pitch for the book. I explained that the novel expanded the narrative of the movie, telling more stories, and providing more background details of Scout. Prisa confessed liking the movie, and even paid it her sincerest form of movie compliment by replaying it over and over again. But as far as the novel went, I never saw her reading it, and I dropped the matter. It wasn’t until many years later, when she was a sophomore or junior at Loyola Marymount University that the topic of To Kill A Mockingbird came up again.
I seem to recall that Toñito was home from college at the time, and the conversation got around to the subject of Prisa’s classes. She was in the process of changing her major from Film, and was taking a ton of English and American lit classes to satisfy her general requirements. The fact that they were sitting there, comparing notes on novels and plays was astounding. They shared titles, laughed about certain authors, and mocked the styles and antics of the professors who taught them. They even took a moment to credit their mother for teaching them about the literary concept of foreshadowing. I was astonished! Where was the indifferent girl who would leave the room when Toñito or I mentioned books or novels? Here she was, a college girl, standing toe to toe with her older brother, and disagreeing, arguing, and supporting her views on themes and characters of major novels and plays. It was an energizing and euphoric sight for me, and I enjoyed it immensely, watching in silence, until finally interrupting with a question.
“Say, Prees,” I asked. “Did you ever read that paperback of To Kill A Mockingbird I gave you?”
Her eyes widened for a moment and she exclaimed, “Yes! It was the first novel I ever finished. It’s the book that turned me on to literature. I loved it. I was convinced for the longest time that it was about me. I was Scout.” She went on and on about the novel, the stories, and the characters, and how it had changed her attitude about literature. I just listened with a satisfied, happy smile on my face.
Eventually, Prisa would go on to choose English as her new major and begin teaching English and Literature in high school after graduation. But I always remembered that night when she revealed her love of literature, and how it began with her fascination with Scout. I never thought there would be cause to bring up the topic again, until a few months ago, when I asked her if she and Joe had decided on a name for their new baby.
Prisa had just completed her second ultrasound procedure, and the sex of the baby was clearly known. Their first child, Sarah Kathleen, was named after Joe’s grandmother, and Prisa’s mom, after a long process of discussion and compromise. So I was curious where their thinking was with their new baby. Our conversation went something like this:
“Have you decided on a name for the baby yet?” I asked.
“Actually, we have,” Prisa readily replied, revealing that the topic was fresh in her mind.
“I’ve always liked the name Grace,” she began, “but I was also thinking of the name Harper. You know, like Harper Lee.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, knowingly, suddenly seeing the association. “You wanted to call her Scout!”
“Well,” she said, blushingly,” I toyed with the idea for about a minute, but I couldn’t do it. Scout’s not really a proper name.”
“No,” I agreed, grudgingly, “but it’s a great nickname. Scout McDorman – yeah, I like it…”
“You’re going crazy, Dad,” Prisa said, laughingly, interrupting my fantasies of Scout and I playing in the backyard, exploring the neighborhood, and reading together on the couch. “Don’t get carried away. Joe and I talked about it and reached a compromise with Grace Harper.”
“It’s a great name, Prees,” I concluded. “Good job, Joe, I like it. But, would you mind if I called her Scout?”
“Nope, not at all,” Prisa said with a smile. “But let’s see how it goes. Grace, or Gracie, is a tough name to compete with, and nicknames tend to develop naturally. Let’s see what happens.”
“Well, whatever happens,” I concluded, “Grace Harper is a great name. I love it.”
Prisa’s right, of course. Predicting nicknames for babies is a risky proposition. As she pointed out, nicknames tend to develop accidently over time. Her own came from Toñito’s two-year old pronunciation of the name Teresa. I call Sarah my “Nena Chula”, and Kathy’s sister Deirdre, is called “Tootie”. But regardless of what she will be called, Grace Harper’s name came out of an enduring love of literature, and a fascination with one particular book and character. I believe every name carries with it the seeds of endless possibilities, and Grace Harper’s is a story waiting to be written.
“He hasn’t taught me anything, Miss Caroline.
Atticus ain’t got time to teach me anything,” she added
when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head.
“Why, he’s so tired at night
he just sits in the living room and reads”.
“If he didn’t teach you, who did?” Miss Caroline asked.
“Somebody did. You weren’t born reading The Mobile Register!”
“Jem says I was,” Scout continued.
“He read in a book where I was a Bullfinch instead of a Finch.
Jem says my name’s really Jean Louise Bullfinch,
that I got swapped when I was born and I’m really a...”
(To Kill A Mockingbird: Harper Lee – 1960)
Grace Harper was born to Prisa and Joe McDorman on Sunday, March 30, 2014 at 1:26 PM. Her delivery was a little earlier than expected, and she weighed only 5lbs 14 oz, and was 18 inches long. After catching only a brief glimpse of mother and baby as they were wheeled to the maternity section of Torrance Memorial Hospital, we finally visited them at about 5:00. The infant in Prisa’s arms was a small hooded bundle, swaddled in the pink and blue delivery blankets they use in all maternity wards. Her eye slits were barely opening, and she still had that flushed, ruddy look that newborns have.
“Not a blondie, like Sarah,” Prisa said, sliding back the pink and blue striped knit cap to reveal a remarkable amount of feathery, dark hair. She quickly told us that the baby was doing fine and seemed more inclined to eating and sleeping than crying.
“The only time she cries is when we wake her up to change her diapers”.
Finally reunited with her mommy, Sarah was suddenly less apprehensive, and became curious of the new baby everyone had been anticipating for such a long time.
“Can I hold her, mommy?” she asked, peeking through the collapsible sidebars of the bed.
“Not yet, honey,” Prisa said gently, reaching over to caress the top of her head. “Maybe when we’re home and your sitting in your special reading chair”.
“Would you like to hold her, Kathy?” Joe asked, taking the baby from Prisa’s arms and depositing the bundle into her grandmother’s arms.
“Oh my God!” Kathy exclaimed when she looked down at the small bundle. “She’s so tiny. She’s a peanut!”
To which Sarah protectively replied, “No she’s not! She’s not a peanut! She’s my baby sister, Gracie.”
When it was my turn to hold her, all I could do was repeat her name silently.
“Grace Harper McDorman, Grace Harper McDorman… What a powerful name for such a tiny, special girl”.
I really can’t remember the first books Prisa read on her own as a child. Kathy and I read to her regularly as an infant, and she was always close by when we read to Toñito, her older brother. She could recite the words to Go Dog Go, Hop On Pop, and One Fish, Two Fish; Red Fish, Blue Fish when prompted with the pictures on the pages, but I was never sure when she actually decoded on her own. I’ve always suspected that she read independently at a much earlier age than she let on. You see Toñito was the reading prodigy. By the age of 3 he could read through the books of Dr. Seuss, P.D. Eastman, Maurice Sendak, and Stan Berenstain, and as soon as Prisa was old enough to listen, Toñito was dutifully reading to her, as well. He would say the words and sentences, and then have her repeat the letters, words, and numbers as he pointed them out. At first, Prisa saw these interactions as play and participated fully. However, it eventually became apparent that she was backing off more and more, and ceding to Toñito the practice of those skills at which he seemed expert. Toñito was the independent reader, the student who mastered numbers and strategy games, and solved puzzles quickly and easily. Prisa seemed to stay clear of those areas that Toñito monopolized, and gravitated to the more readily available ones, such as socializing, building friendships, and playing team sports. I see this now, through the glass of hindsight, but at the time, I was too preoccupied with moving forward with their development. I ascribed their different strengths and interests as natural for a boy and girl of different ages, and Kathy and I continued promoting their intellectual, athletic, and developmental growth.
During their elementary school years, getting Toñito excited about moving from children’s books to more adult literature was easy. I simply brought him with me to buy books at new or used bookstores and pointed out the many genres he could choose from. He was immediately up and running around from room to room, and department to department, inspecting books of every subject and field. In that rich literary environment, I also showed him the books and novels that excited me in grade school, high school, and college – especially in the areas of fantasy and science fiction. Prisa was another story. While she always wanted to be included in these excursions to comic and bookstores, she assumed a bored posture toward the books and genres I recommended. She would eventually meander into the music and video departments of the store and spend her time there. If pressed to select books to buy, she would ignore my recommendations and choose books by “kiddie lit” authors, like Beverly Cleary’s Ramona stories. While Prisa had clearly mastered all the essential reading skills, and applied them to school and homework, she wasn’t inclined to do much personal reading at home, and certainly nothing I recommended. I was at the point of giving up, when I decided to try one more thing. And my memory of the story goes like this:
Prisa was in the 6th or 7th grade when I came across an old, worn copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, in our home library. Thinking back on my first encounter with the Pulitzer Prize winning novel in high school, I recalled how the story grabbed my attention, excited my interest, and sparked my indignation at the injustices of segregation. Seeing the movie with Gregory Peck in 1962 only made the book better. The movie helped me visualize the fascinating characters in the novel, Atticus, Scout, Jem, Dill, and Boo Radley, and painted a vivid picture of the tired, old town of Maycomb, Georgia, where the story took place. Pulling the dusty paperback from the bookcase, I walked to Prisa’s bedroom, where she was sitting at her desk.
“Prees,” I said, placing the paperback on the desk. “I know you don’t like it when I recommend books to you, but here’s one you might want to look at. There’s a character in it named Scout who reminds me a lot of you. She has an older brother who annoys her, she gets involved in all kinds of adventures, and she is something of a tomboy. They also made a movie of it, and we could get the video if you’d like to see it first. I’m pretty sure you’ll like the movie, but believe me when I say that the book is even better”.
Prisa listened patiently, and even picked up the paperback and looked at its front and back cover. But her only response was a non-committing, “Thanks, Dad.”
We eventually saw the movie together as a family. When it was over, I made one more pitch for the book. I explained that the novel expanded the narrative of the movie, telling more stories, and providing more background details of Scout. Prisa confessed liking the movie, and even paid it her sincerest form of movie compliment by replaying it over and over again. But as far as the novel went, I never saw her reading it, and I dropped the matter. It wasn’t until many years later, when she was a sophomore or junior at Loyola Marymount University that the topic of To Kill A Mockingbird came up again.
I seem to recall that Toñito was home from college at the time, and the conversation got around to the subject of Prisa’s classes. She was in the process of changing her major from Film, and was taking a ton of English and American lit classes to satisfy her general requirements. The fact that they were sitting there, comparing notes on novels and plays was astounding. They shared titles, laughed about certain authors, and mocked the styles and antics of the professors who taught them. They even took a moment to credit their mother for teaching them about the literary concept of foreshadowing. I was astonished! Where was the indifferent girl who would leave the room when Toñito or I mentioned books or novels? Here she was, a college girl, standing toe to toe with her older brother, and disagreeing, arguing, and supporting her views on themes and characters of major novels and plays. It was an energizing and euphoric sight for me, and I enjoyed it immensely, watching in silence, until finally interrupting with a question.
“Say, Prees,” I asked. “Did you ever read that paperback of To Kill A Mockingbird I gave you?”
Her eyes widened for a moment and she exclaimed, “Yes! It was the first novel I ever finished. It’s the book that turned me on to literature. I loved it. I was convinced for the longest time that it was about me. I was Scout.” She went on and on about the novel, the stories, and the characters, and how it had changed her attitude about literature. I just listened with a satisfied, happy smile on my face.
Eventually, Prisa would go on to choose English as her new major and begin teaching English and Literature in high school after graduation. But I always remembered that night when she revealed her love of literature, and how it began with her fascination with Scout. I never thought there would be cause to bring up the topic again, until a few months ago, when I asked her if she and Joe had decided on a name for their new baby.
Prisa had just completed her second ultrasound procedure, and the sex of the baby was clearly known. Their first child, Sarah Kathleen, was named after Joe’s grandmother, and Prisa’s mom, after a long process of discussion and compromise. So I was curious where their thinking was with their new baby. Our conversation went something like this:
“Have you decided on a name for the baby yet?” I asked.
“Actually, we have,” Prisa readily replied, revealing that the topic was fresh in her mind.
“I’ve always liked the name Grace,” she began, “but I was also thinking of the name Harper. You know, like Harper Lee.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, knowingly, suddenly seeing the association. “You wanted to call her Scout!”
“Well,” she said, blushingly,” I toyed with the idea for about a minute, but I couldn’t do it. Scout’s not really a proper name.”
“No,” I agreed, grudgingly, “but it’s a great nickname. Scout McDorman – yeah, I like it…”
“You’re going crazy, Dad,” Prisa said, laughingly, interrupting my fantasies of Scout and I playing in the backyard, exploring the neighborhood, and reading together on the couch. “Don’t get carried away. Joe and I talked about it and reached a compromise with Grace Harper.”
“It’s a great name, Prees,” I concluded. “Good job, Joe, I like it. But, would you mind if I called her Scout?”
“Nope, not at all,” Prisa said with a smile. “But let’s see how it goes. Grace, or Gracie, is a tough name to compete with, and nicknames tend to develop naturally. Let’s see what happens.”
“Well, whatever happens,” I concluded, “Grace Harper is a great name. I love it.”
Prisa’s right, of course. Predicting nicknames for babies is a risky proposition. As she pointed out, nicknames tend to develop accidently over time. Her own came from Toñito’s two-year old pronunciation of the name Teresa. I call Sarah my “Nena Chula”, and Kathy’s sister Deirdre, is called “Tootie”. But regardless of what she will be called, Grace Harper’s name came out of an enduring love of literature, and a fascination with one particular book and character. I believe every name carries with it the seeds of endless possibilities, and Grace Harper’s is a story waiting to be written.
