Name Game

How my child came by his name.

Well naoh, young’ins, set yer butts in them thahr chairs, an’ ah’ll tell yew how mah son…that is, yer grandpappy…come by his name…

Started out in ‘73, as I recollects it…Janyary, I reckon…me ‘n thah old woman, we wuz heddin toward Yew-ta for sos I culd git tah mah next assignment…a place what’s called Hill AFB…I reckons they named it that cause it be raht next tah thuh mantins…I jest getted bak from a tour in a cuple furign countries…Vet Mom and Thighland…dang if’n them furners don’t have strange names fer their countrys…anywhichways, we’s drivin up threw central Yew-ta…an we comes up on a blizzerd…a real humdinger, she were…think they ust tuh call ‘em ‘White outs’…that’s cuz yew looks out and it’s all white…Ah guess…

So, cuz a all the snow and sech, wez slowed way down…only doin 10 mebbe 15 mahls fer an hahr…an this on thuh freeway, no less…Then, we sees a black spot up ‘head…turns out tuh be a motel…we pulz in, and gits a room…but ‘taint no power, so wez stumblin ’round inna dark to git settled…naoh…we’ns gots tuh figer out wuht we gonna do…to early tuh sleep…so, we’s jawin about it, and finly we figers we gonna…wuht that, boy? yew gots tuh speek up, boy, Ah aint gots mah ‘wuhts tuh hep yuh heer’ thingys screwed inta mah ear bones raht naoh…say, aint yew just a tad yung tuh be thinkin o’ that, boy? Yore mama no yew thinkin thisa ways? Well, yer raht, anywhos…that there’s perzacly wuht we done…and it were a gud bit o fun tew…Early next day, we’ns bak onna road agin…an thuh res uh thuh trip were un eventful…

Cupl month later, thuh old woman, shes startin tuh feel raht poorly…sez tuh me, she sez, “Hey, yew pug-ugly old wrinkle assed sumbitch…yew needs tuh git me tuh a docter fer mah feelin poorly.” She always sweet talkin me thataways cuz she nose it maks me hotter ‘n a barrel o whiskey whuts been thowed inna fahr…Sos Ah gits her to thuh docter…an he sez, sez he, “Well, yore pregnant.” An Ah sez, sez Ah, “caint be doc…shes dun had all her shots..” An he sez, sez he, “Ah meens youz gonna have a baby, yuh old fool.” Well, Ah scratches mah haid a bit, an thinks a bit, n Ah sez, sez Ah, “Ah caint have no baby, doc…Ah aint gots no way tuh push thuh brat out from.” He jes kinda rolls his eyes, and thuh old woman dew tew…

Sos, wes sittin at tuh home, month or so later, and she sez tuh me, sez she, “All raht, yew ugly faced hyena t**d, wat yew wanna name this here brat…if’n it be a gurl?” More o’ that sweet talk there…she must want me bad tuh sweet talk me lahk that. Well, Ah scratch mah haid, an Ah scratch mah a*s, an Ah thinks fer a moment, an Ah sez, sez Ah, “Well, ifn it’s a gurl, we otta name ‘er Prew dense…Prew dense Prisilla.” She looks at me, an she sez, sez she, “Wah, yew pigged out pile o puppy poop, Ah wouldn’t name yore dawgs hind end Prew dense Prisilla…yew better come up wi’ sup’in better’n that. Wuht if’n it’s a boy?.” “Well, hell,” Ah sez, “that’n be easy. If’n it’s a boy, he be Buford Aloysius.”

“Buford Aloysi…wuht thuh hell kinda name is that? Uh boy wi’ that name wuld never make it thrue skool…he’d be hekled raht out…Yew better dew better than that, old man.” “Well, we’ns figer it out when we noe whut it is, then.” “Ahl raht.”

One day, few month later, she call me at work, an she sez, sez she, “Ahs at thuh Laundromat. Mah water broke.” An Ah sez, “Wuht yew callin me at work fore, old woman, jes tuh tell me yew broke uh glass uh water?” An she sez, sez she, “Not uh glass, old fool, mah water…thuh baby cummin…Ah gots tuh git tuh thuh hospital.” An Ah sez, “Oh…awl raht…Ah com’n gitcha.” An she sez, “Hurry…but not tew fast…ah still gots close inna drier.” Well, Ah gits there, an ah gits her tuh thuh hospital, anna docter takes a look at ‘er, an he sez, “Sup’in wrong wi’ a baby. We’ns needs tuh dews a ee-mergencee c-section.” Ah sez, “Well, wuht Ah dew wahl you in section c?” An he sez, “Yew has tuh go tuh thuh Admittance Office.”

Well, she go tuh sextion c, an Ah inna Admittance Office, havin her committed, an then Ah goes tuh thuh waitin room, an Ah waites…Purty soon, this heah guy in whate come by, an he have mah son inna in-cue-bator…an Ah looks at him, an Ah looks at thuh boy…mah son, he look jest lahk mah fav-o-rite movie star…an Ah runs tuh thuh Recovery Room…an Ah shakes her awake, an Ah sez, “He look jest lahk mah fav-o-rite movie star! We’ns gots tuh name him Buford! We’ns jest gots tuh!” An she look up at me, an she sez, “Oh…it’s yew…Ah were dreamin of Robert Redford…an it jest yew. Why we gots tuh name him Buford?” An Ah sez, sez Ah, “Cause then we’ns kin call him ‘Buford the Blob!’” An she sez, “Aint no way he gonna be Buford! Try agin.” So, Ah sez, “Well, how about Robert?” An she sez, “After Robert Redford?” An Ah sez, “NO! Then he culd be ‘Bobby Blobby’”. She fixes me wi’ a look what could peel thuh paint off’n a two-dollar w***e, an she sez, “Listen very carefully, yew pencil-pricked, prepubescent, pile o’ python puke (wow! sweet talkin me at a tahm lahk this!)…Ah’ll name this here chile…yew go take a walk…see if’n maybe yew caint find that there pea-sized brain of your’n what wandered off.”

An that there, young’ins, is haoh mah son…yer granpappy…ended up wi’ a dull name uv Paul David Stone…Ah figer she dun thowed in that there David jest tuh ‘pease me…An, hey! he dun growd up an joined up on that there Facebook…shore thing…his pichers raht there on mah profile…stop bye an say Howdeee…call him Buford…he lahks that…Ah noe when Ah brings it up, his face gits redder’n a Purple Crayola…an he spits an he sputters an he drools…an then he tries tuh sweet talk me jest lahk his momma usta…but he lahks hockey, Ah guess…keeps callin me A Stoopid Ol Puck…er sup’in lahk that…