About eighteen years ago, there was a glut of young women choosing names such as “Cody”, “Dakota”, or “Colton” for their soon-to-be-born male children. My immediate reaction to this was to lash out at these ignorant youngsters and inform them that they were not about to acquire a new puppy.
Naming a child “Colton” is damn near child abuse in my book. I predicted that “in eighteen years you’re going to
be reading about an awful lot of Codys in the paper”, and that they would most likely grow into miscreants. Unfortunately, my prediction turned out to be all too true.
Now, I suppose I should address my own name – my mother, falling for the “cuteness” thing also. Obviously “Kipp” is not your everyday, ordinary name. There is some dispute as to why my parents settled on “Kipp”. Dad claimed I was named after a gymnastic stunt, but that has only one “p” – as does the African “Kip”, which means “Son”. The only meaning of the two “p” spelling of my name (and it seems to be a consistent one) is the Scottish, “dweller of the pointed hill”, whatever the Hell that means.
Now, my mother, on the other hand, claims she named both my sister and I after soap opera characters from Edge of Night. I tend to believe this, as it is totally cheesy Americana at its worst, and Mom, being a big Elvis fan and all, would have definitely done this.
Not to complain – I have managed to meet several other one and two “p” Kipps out there, and they are all musicians. There must be something about the name that drives one to make loud, obnoxious sounds. There’s Kip Winger, a guy who I can’t stand – not only because I find his music gutless, but more than a handful of smart-asses call me “Hey – Kip Winger” now and then.
I have a friend named Michael Bolton. I find myself constantly having to tell people, “No, not THAT Michael Bolton”. Then I saw Office Space, in which there is a character named Michael Bolton who is constantly being asked if he’s “any relation to the singer”. It was great because in the 80’s we used to put “featuring Michael Bolton” on the band’s flyers. People bitched and moaned when it turned out to be who I refer to as the “real” Michael Bolton.
Anyway – back to the Colton, Cody, Dakota plague – There is a notorious “Colton” out there in Washington or Oregon somewhere who the police can’t seem to catch up with (at least last I heard). He’s burglarized several homes in the Pacific North West, stolen any number of cars, planes, and has become – get this – a cult hero for other miscreant youth who haven’t yet begun to pay their own bills yet (unless you count the bill at Dairy Queen I guess).
There is another odd trend of Christian parents giving long-obscure names of even more obscure Bible characters to their children. Cruelly branded titles such as “Elishua”, “Hezekia”, or “Jebidiah”, which I guess could all be shortened, but when you are in Wal Mart and some guy is chasing his two-year-old yelling “Jebidiah-no. No! Jebidiah”, the Christian in me just wants to deck the fool in the jaw for making so much work for himself.