An Unnecessarily Stressful Announcement

I am sitting at a long table with a grilled veggie sub in a basket in front of me. On my right is Moonshot; to my left is my cousin, Caleb. I am so nervous I have to force myself to eat.

Around the table are Caleb’s wife Summer with their infant child Austin. Also in attendance are Caleb’s parents, Bobby and Theresa, and Caleb’s sister Sarah. A neglected Golden Tee machine rests in the corner to my left and the sporting news drones behind me on a big screen, alerting us that George Mason had been eliminated from the Final Four earlier in the day. Decorated with trains and corrugated roofing metal, the Chartroose Caboose is known for having the best Philly cheese steak in the Kansas City area. And it would be a comfortable atmosphere under any other circumstance, but I’m not really paying much attention. I just keep running through multiple versions of the speech I have to make and getting nervous all over again. The feeling is reminiscent of the night I proposed to Moonshot. Now, like then, I know what the response will be. I know I have nothing to be so terrified about, but the overriding “significance” of the moment crushes my self-confidence. The knowledge that everyone at the table will remember this moment makes me want to give a delivery worth of the event. And that makes me very nervous.

Summer inquires about my veggies. Everyone seems concerned that the selection of this eating establishment has been rather unfriendly to the out-of-town vegetarians. I assure them, as I have been since they first suggested this place, that I really do LIKE grilled veggies. I force another bite of food onto my uneasy stomach. It’s actually a fine sandwich and their restaurant selection really was a decent one. It’s just my nerves that make me appear to be less than enthusiastic. But they have no reason to suspect that I’m nervous, so I keep eating to diminish their fears as I wait for a good opening in the conversation. A thought crosses my mind that maybe I’m mildly hoping a good break does not come…because I’m still not exactly sure what I’m going to say.

What the Hell…I’ll just start. Everyone will start listening soon enough.

“You know,” I begin conversationally, “everyone keeps asking me if I’m hoping for a boy or a girl.” I pause. I’ve got about half the table paying attention, that’s fine. “I always tell people I don’t care one way or the other, but the truth is I guess I’m kinda hoping for a boy. Cuz, I’m really looking forward to naming my child after someone I’ve wanted to name my son after since I was about 12.” That was a cumbersome sentence, but just about everyone is looking now. I try not to worry about the bad delivery because I know I can write it more eloquently when I tell the story in my blog. “So, if we have a boy, and unless anyone has an objection…[Moonshot] and I would really like to name our son Caleb.”

A momentary silence sweeps the table as Caleb moves from half interested to confusion to smiling. “Really? Yeah, of course. That’s…wow.” He responds. He is truly baffled. And this moment perfectly highlights one of the many characteristics that make me so eager for my son to carry his name. His humility is such that he cannot wrap his mind around what has been said. He would not have been any more surprised if I had announced that he had won the Nobel Prize, it was so far outside his realm of expectations. He is smiling at Moonshot and me and mumbling, “That’s great,” a lot, but mainly his mind seems to be racing to find some justification for this honor…but his lack of arrogance leaves him searching.

My Uncle Bobby, on the other hand, is out of his chair and moving around the table to hug me with a faint misting of tears in his eyes. He rumbles, “I love you,” in his bass gravel voice as he wraps his arms around me.

“You did a good job raising him,” I reply and return his embrace.

We return to our seats and move quickly into a short discussion about baby names…but the details get fuzzy after this. The slow motion attention to odd details that accompanies my anxiety passes and the Moment slides comfortably into the past. Suddenly, I’m actually able to enjoy my veggie sub.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly. Caleb and I sit up late in his garage swapping new music we’ve recently discovered and watching as a terrific storm rolls over his city. The wind blowing through the open garage door is chilly, but it’s undeniably spring air… so it is welcome. Caleb seems uncomfortable discussing the name issue, so we cover other topics. He appears genuinely pleased by the honor the name implies, but is not entirely at ease with a discussion that would basically be me listing all the reasons I think he’s so great. And anyway, I’m not always the best at expressing in person the sorts of thoughts that lead me to choose my cousin as my son’s namesake. So I don’t press the issue.

Instead we just enjoy each other’s company, watch the lightning spread across the early April sky and listen to bluegrass.

It’s more fitting this way...and far less stressful.