Since I have been so busy this week I thought I would have a guest bring you a bit of humor. Here is another offering from Tracy Farr, a very funny man who also plays a mean banjo.
A rose by any other name…
I don’t know how you feel about the matter, but it makes me proud to live in a country where being elected to the highest office in the land does not depend upon the color of your skin, your religion, your sex or having a weird name like Barack.
Millions of people, good, honest, hard-working Americans, live their lives ashamed of having names like Garvin, Earl, Clementine, or Gertrude. Guys try with all their might to hide the fact they have girl names like Carol and Hollie. At the same time, Gals are constantly having to explain that their real name is Samantha, even though they go by Sam.
But now, with a president named Barack, we of unusual names can stand a little taller — at least, I know I will.
I asked my parents why they named me Tracy, and they said at the time I was born, it was a common boy name. But I have my own thoughts. I think my parents were deep in debt with a bookie, and they agreed to give their first-born son a “girlie” name in exchange for not having their fingers cut off. I believe this because every time I go to the old neighborhood, I always run into an old man wearing a pinstriped suit and wing tip shoes who just points at me and laughs.
I remember when I was a young boy, with my friends over for supper, my mother gave me a package that had come in the mail. I opened it up (even though it was addressed to Ms. Tracy Farr) and read the letter: “Dear Ms. Farr, now that you are becoming a young lady, we would like to….” And then the sample feminine hygiene product fell into my lap.
One “friend” said, “Tracy, is there something you’re not telling us?”
Another said, “So what’s it like become a young lady?”
Finally, the last one said, “Hey, if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
Now, with the election of Barack Obama, those of us with non-traditional names can walk the streets with our heads a little higher, and be proud of the names our parents dropped upon us. No longer does an American president have to be named George, Bill or Jimmy. He (or she) can be named Barack, Hillary, Jethro, or Daisy Mae.
And if that doesn’t prove change is in the air, nothing will.
The Daily Spittoon — Always proud of our name