Ben

"Name him Brandon," I said.
"No, I'm his mother. I choose," said she.
And that was how my brother's name came to be.

My mother has a thing, or rather obsession with relations in her children's names. There's me, BENjamin, and then my little brother, BENny. And my little sister?


The process of naming her went like this: BenjaMIN + BenNY = Minn(ie)

It's cute (?) in a way I guess, and at least everyone that finds out for the first time gets a good laugh or two so no harm done there.

And that's them, minus the big, bearded man in the middle of course; that would be "The Lumberjack." Benny is a little bundle of energy. Unusual and goofy, but a really bright kid. He's easily frightened and is one of those kids that cries in Disneyland's Haunted Mansion. Then there Minnie. She's an even more peculiar case. She tries to be a delicate and shy princess-type girl, but she's a fearless diva or spoiled brat, depending on your viewpoint. But to be fair, she's the youngest and the only girl. It's only logical that she's "daddy's girl."

But back to the names. I've long come to accept our names. It didn't really bother me much to begin with. However, "Benjam-ny" has become a household hallmark with my parents. "Benjam-(stuttering)-ny!" they would call in a thick Asian accent, "Get down here and do your homework!" Of course the name of their favorite child comes first to mind, so it's an understandable mistake, but even worse is "Ben." Let's examine this: it could either mean "Benjamin and Benny," "Benjamin," or "Benny." They could be asking for a pen for goodness' sake, but under their accent who could know. Do you not see the predicament you have created, Mother?