I don't name a lot of things. My car has no name. My house has no name. None of my guitars has a name. Some people would think I was completely impoverished. No, make that many people.I first discovered
need to name when I took a liking to a certain hat many years ago. I wore that hat in what could be called true cowboy style -- I never took it off. Well, I didn't wear it to bed or in
shower, but everywhere else you found me you found it. People began asking me if my hat had a name. When I told them that
hat was nameless, they would begin what I called
hat dance.
First, they believed that
hat had a name and that I wasn't sharing it. Then, they became angry because if they spent 90% of their waking hours with a hat, it would have a proper name and why couldn't I be like other people and not be so weird. They would say that I had no heart and didn't love my hat enough to give it a name. Just before they would walk away, there would be
acceptance that I had indeed resisted
urge to anthropomorphize my hat.
The question became a conversational gambit for
small talk impaired. Right after
"Hi, how are you"s would come
inevitable "what's your hat's name?" Had I not been a penniless student at
time, I would have bought
hat business cards and taken to introducing it around as
hat-with-no-name. Instead, I came up with a cheaper solution -- a smart alec reply.
"If I gave
hat a name, then it would have top billing!", I would protest. That witty reply fell flat about everywhere I dropped it, but I am nothing if not dogged in my loyalty to it.
My car didn't have a name either, for a while. My friends drove Betsies and Ediths and Sams while I made do with a generic no-name Volkswagen that had
nasty habit of opening its passenger door when I made a left-hand turn. It was during one of these exciting moments that my friend, Bill Postel, christened my car. After we stopped to wipe off
seat, he finished
job by naming my car "The DeathTrap."
Here was something my friends could appreciate -- a man who had a name for his car. I knew I had arrived when one of
car-less girls at
college radio station came up and asked if she could borrow "The DeathTrap" to run up to
convenience store. My car had a name. It must be friendly. Tell that to
guy who bought it from me only to have
engine toss a rod on
way home. Silly me, I neglected to tell him that
car had a name.