I have a mountain named after me -- I really do.
Puppy Peak.
Yes, I'm sure there is some officious name mapmakers have ascribed to it, but everyone I know in Colorado refers to it only as, "Puppy Peak."
I was born Robert. If asked, I think most would say that the diminutive for Robert is Rob -- it stands to reason. Well, there are those who strongly disagree -- at least with me.
It is a fact that I was named for the famous physician, Robert Lamar, MD, who was the first to arrive in Bataan as WWII drew to a close; he was also the same inebriated, Robert Lamar, MD, who brought my twin brother and I into the world.
After suffering labor with two six-pound plus watermelon equivalents, my Mother never again had a kind word to speak of the tipsy physician who spent most of the day reading comic books and patting her on the head while admonishing her to "be a good girl."
It remains a puzzle to me, then, as to why my parent's decided to name me for this man. While it was probably my father's idea, I can assure you Mother never called me Robert again ~ except on those rare occasions when I was (mistakenly) in trouble.
So it is that in my world, my given name begat Bob, which morphed into Bobby and eventually to Blob .. ad nauseum. There was also a time during high school when I was inexplicably "Uncle Bobo" to most of my friends; the truly sad aspect of this fact is that I never discouraged it..
There seems to be a negative cultural connotation of sorts with the name, Bob. There are plenty of movies as evidence which invariably portray the village idiot as some mouth-breathing buffoon named, "Bob." And while I may simply be paranoid, it also seems that television sitcoms routinely curse every stupid husband with the dread name.
Why not Fred? Better yet, Blake, Bill, Scott, Mark or Jim?
The movie, "What about Bob," is a perfect example.
Bill Murray plays a psychiatrist-stalking, obsessive-compulsive ~ albeit lovable ~ psycho named ... you guessed it ... Bob. At the beginning of the movie, the doltish Bob forces his psychiatrist into an early retirement but not before the shrink foists the loon into the care of an unsuspecting and egomaniacal collegue.
The not-so-subtle irony in the movie ~ for me ~ comes when Bob then proceeds to drive the aforementioned unsuspecting, egomaniacal, Dr. Marvin, into an asylum.
When it comes to my names, I can't win!
One day while in college, it all changed for me; I woke up one morning as "Bob" but went to bed that night as "Rob."
Catherine ~ carob eating, soda nazi, lawyer-to-be ~ informed me while (she was not) studying Organic Chemistry that "you are most definitely not a 'Bob' ~ you are a 'Robert!'"
For the life of me, I don't know why her words resonated as they did; I had never really given my name much thought. Even so, I listened when this intelligent, pre-med dropout cum future lawyer declared the use of the name "Bob" taboo.
I asserted my prerogative and went to bed that night freshly empowered with the name, "Rob." I have been Rob to most everyone since.
I probably should have told my father.
While at home over the summer break, it dawned on me that I hadn't heard from many of my college buddies. I mentioned this curious turn to my father who went on to tell me that while they "had received quite a few odd phone calls requesting to speak to someone named 'Rob,' no one had specifically asked to speak to me!"
Before hanging up, my father apparently ended the calls with an abrupt, "There is no Rob here!"
Today, there exist at least three distinct camps:
Most family members stubbornly refuse to call me by any name other than 'Bob' ~ as well as the many cute permutations of the same. (My cousin informed me recently that she once requested to speak to her cousin, one of the staff physicians at the hospital named, 'Bobby Marvin.' I am amazed I never heard anything of this exchange from the viscious pack of nurses.)
My college and med school friends (post-Catherine) all know me as Robert, Rob, Marvin, or even 'Starvin' Marvin' (thanks to South Park).
And, finally, there are the (Non-South Park) Colorado relatives who prefer to call me, "Puppy."
Puppy came from the mind ~ and mouth ~ of my first nephew, Evan. As a mere toddler when he met his favorite Uncle, he was intent on making a great first impression. So, despite his youth and underdeveloped communication skills, he did the very best he could (especially given his father's contribution of translocated genes) to call me by name.
Bobby became Puppy.
The name stuck and it doesn't bother me in the least; it makes me feel special. Other than another second-tier Uncle who is called, EUB (to distinquish him as 'Evil Uncle Bob), I am the only other family member with such a nickname. I prefer my moniker ~ and besides, I have my own mountain!
Those Colorado Marvin's live in Summit County. It's sad to think that everyday familiarity would ever have them taking the beautiful vista of Silverthorne for granted. One need only walk a few steps from the front door of their home on any given afternoon to bask in the growing shadows of the Gore Range mountains. Standing proudest, in my mind, is Puppy Peak.
It would be a nice memory for me to treasure if I knew of how they all came together and decided to honor me with the tribute of an entire mountain.
Unfortunately, I don't believe that is actually how it happened.
Come to think of it. I may very well have named it for myself.
What would you expect?
Any self-respecting, crazed person named "Bob" would have done the same thing!
Puppy Peak.
Yes, I'm sure there is some officious name mapmakers have ascribed to it, but everyone I know in Colorado refers to it only as, "Puppy Peak."
I was born Robert. If asked, I think most would say that the diminutive for Robert is Rob -- it stands to reason. Well, there are those who strongly disagree -- at least with me.
It is a fact that I was named for the famous physician, Robert Lamar, MD, who was the first to arrive in Bataan as WWII drew to a close; he was also the same inebriated, Robert Lamar, MD, who brought my twin brother and I into the world.
After suffering labor with two six-pound plus watermelon equivalents, my Mother never again had a kind word to speak of the tipsy physician who spent most of the day reading comic books and patting her on the head while admonishing her to "be a good girl."
It remains a puzzle to me, then, as to why my parent's decided to name me for this man. While it was probably my father's idea, I can assure you Mother never called me Robert again ~ except on those rare occasions when I was (mistakenly) in trouble.
So it is that in my world, my given name begat Bob, which morphed into Bobby and eventually to Blob .. ad nauseum. There was also a time during high school when I was inexplicably "Uncle Bobo" to most of my friends; the truly sad aspect of this fact is that I never discouraged it..
There seems to be a negative cultural connotation of sorts with the name, Bob. There are plenty of movies as evidence which invariably portray the village idiot as some mouth-breathing buffoon named, "Bob." And while I may simply be paranoid, it also seems that television sitcoms routinely curse every stupid husband with the dread name.
Why not Fred? Better yet, Blake, Bill, Scott, Mark or Jim?
The movie, "What about Bob," is a perfect example.
Bill Murray plays a psychiatrist-stalking, obsessive-compulsive ~ albeit lovable ~ psycho named ... you guessed it ... Bob. At the beginning of the movie, the doltish Bob forces his psychiatrist into an early retirement but not before the shrink foists the loon into the care of an unsuspecting and egomaniacal collegue.
The not-so-subtle irony in the movie ~ for me ~ comes when Bob then proceeds to drive the aforementioned unsuspecting, egomaniacal, Dr. Marvin, into an asylum.
When it comes to my names, I can't win!
One day while in college, it all changed for me; I woke up one morning as "Bob" but went to bed that night as "Rob."
Catherine ~ carob eating, soda nazi, lawyer-to-be ~ informed me while (she was not) studying Organic Chemistry that "you are most definitely not a 'Bob' ~ you are a 'Robert!'"
For the life of me, I don't know why her words resonated as they did; I had never really given my name much thought. Even so, I listened when this intelligent, pre-med dropout cum future lawyer declared the use of the name "Bob" taboo.
I asserted my prerogative and went to bed that night freshly empowered with the name, "Rob." I have been Rob to most everyone since.
I probably should have told my father.
While at home over the summer break, it dawned on me that I hadn't heard from many of my college buddies. I mentioned this curious turn to my father who went on to tell me that while they "had received quite a few odd phone calls requesting to speak to someone named 'Rob,' no one had specifically asked to speak to me!"
Before hanging up, my father apparently ended the calls with an abrupt, "There is no Rob here!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, there exist at least three distinct camps:
Most family members stubbornly refuse to call me by any name other than 'Bob' ~ as well as the many cute permutations of the same. (My cousin informed me recently that she once requested to speak to her cousin, one of the staff physicians at the hospital named, 'Bobby Marvin.' I am amazed I never heard anything of this exchange from the viscious pack of nurses.)
My college and med school friends (post-Catherine) all know me as Robert, Rob, Marvin, or even 'Starvin' Marvin' (thanks to South Park).
And, finally, there are the (Non-South Park) Colorado relatives who prefer to call me, "Puppy."
Puppy came from the mind ~ and mouth ~ of my first nephew, Evan. As a mere toddler when he met his favorite Uncle, he was intent on making a great first impression. So, despite his youth and underdeveloped communication skills, he did the very best he could (especially given his father's contribution of translocated genes) to call me by name.
Bobby became Puppy.
The name stuck and it doesn't bother me in the least; it makes me feel special. Other than another second-tier Uncle who is called, EUB (to distinquish him as 'Evil Uncle Bob), I am the only other family member with such a nickname. I prefer my moniker ~ and besides, I have my own mountain!
Those Colorado Marvin's live in Summit County. It's sad to think that everyday familiarity would ever have them taking the beautiful vista of Silverthorne for granted. One need only walk a few steps from the front door of their home on any given afternoon to bask in the growing shadows of the Gore Range mountains. Standing proudest, in my mind, is Puppy Peak.
It would be a nice memory for me to treasure if I knew of how they all came together and decided to honor me with the tribute of an entire mountain.
Unfortunately, I don't believe that is actually how it happened.
Come to think of it. I may very well have named it for myself.
What would you expect?
Any self-respecting, crazed person named "Bob" would have done the same thing!
3 comments:
Bob,
Indeed, if only you'd been given a truly great name like Blake (and then have to explain to everyone you were probably named after some character on some show that I've never seen or heard of for that matter... was it Dallas or Dynasty, I forget).
I wouldn't know; I was just a baby.
Puppy was my nickname as a toddler. My cousin could't say my name so he decided to call me puppy, it stuck.
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