My son's name is Luke. Right away you are probably, based on my first two posts, jumping to the conclusion that this is undoubtedly a result of my affinity for Star Wars. You might even be sending thoughts of empathy to my fiancee, Luke's mother as you read this. The problem is, it is not entirely true.
My Grandmother, who is in her mid 80s, is the matriarch of a very large family. My Grandmother is Catholic. I am the oldest grandson in a family that consists of Kevins, Katies, Patricks, Timothies, but none more appealing (namewise) to my grandmother's devotion to her religion than Matthew, Marc, and John. Three of the four canonical first books of the New Testament. Years ago, at a youngish age, grandma pulled me aside. This was quite out of the ordinary, but I loved the extra attention - something not easily garnered in a larger family - so I did not mind. The important matter she had to confide in me was one of progeny. In our family, there is no Luke. My grandma wanted me to promise, at the ripe age of 13ish, that if I ever have a son, I would name him Luke. Nearly 20 years later, I was able to keep my promise. And my grandma is still alive to enjoy it.
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| But it is fun to say,"Luke, I am your Father." |
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