A Word About My Name

Daily Prompt again – Say My Name, in which we are supposed to tell a story about our names.

Cool. I was named directly after my father’s brother, and not because of any pride of lineage or anything like that. Apparently, Mad Men-style, they had a little trouble locating my dad at my birth. He was on a bit of a bender.

It was 1971, so the dads didn’t do anything but smoke cigars and pace around anyway, so it’s not like I’m asking for a violinist. That’s just the fact. It always seemed sort of lazy, just picking the nearest guy and slapping his name on my head. But no, it was more a function of irritation I think.

For this reason, I often refer to my uncle as the Experimental, Government-Funded Prototype. Usually good for a laugh.

Then there’s my last name – Chalfant. It’s actually my father’s stepdad’s last name. Mr. Chalfant adopted my father and the Experimental Government-Funded Prototype when they were about 2 and 4, and then promptly skipped town. It was the forties, and I guess the guy was a rolling stone. That’s how it goes.

Here’s something odd. My mother first married my father – Dave. He had a brother named Tom. So she had two sons, Tom and Dave. Meanwhile, my uncle had a son named Thomas Scott, who goes by Scott for obvious reasons.

So then my mom divorced my dad, and married a guy named Dave. He had a son named David Shawn. That guy went by Shawn, but he’s not the Shawn you see hanging around here.

Then she divorced Dave and married a guy named Tom. Keepin’ it simple.

Guess what my last name would have been if the Mr. Chalfant hadn’t adopted my dad? BUTY!

Buty!

Close call, I agree.

All right then. Good thing it was a short prompt, cause I got to go.