my little charged particle
June 24, 2009
You know, I could have named my first son Itzhak. Or Abednego. Or even Scheherazade, although, I guess technically that’s a girls name, not that anybody he’s likely to encounter would know that.
And, in fact, Kim and I came THIS close to naming him Karch, after the world’s best volleyball player, once upon a time.
But we didn’t name him any of those names. We named him Ian.
Three simple letters. A name that, apart from Ian Faith, I’ve never heard mispronounced. Until this week.
The chiropractor called to confirm Ian’s appointment for the next day. She asked for Ion. As if he were were a charged particle. Which I guess he kind of is, but we don’t call him that.
I said “Ian’s not here.” She said “I’m confirming Ion’s appointment for tomorrow.” I said “great, IAN will be there.”
She called last night to follow up, which is nice. “How’s Ion doing?”
He’s died, full particle reversal, sad story. But Ian is doing great.