What’s In A Name

The naming conventions in my family are literal. A thing is what it is, which is how our first pet came to be called Rabbit. Nothing complicated or abstract there, as it was indeed a rabbit. Our second pet, a stray kitten which appeared in our back yard in Abu Dhabi after my son told a local child rhat he wanted one, was called Hirra. It’s the Usborne Arabic word for cat, which seemed appropriate at the time, although belatedly I discovered that not many people speak or recognise Usborne Arabic!

Our naming decisions have proven useful though, helping avoid confusion or coyness, especially when it comes to body parts. At least that was the case until this week. Picture a family about to sit down for an evening meal: table set with placemats and cutlery, three children sitting waiting patiently while mum stands at the cooker putting food onto plates and eldest son prepares a salad. The hum of conversation about the day, the meal or current affairs. Haha, just kidding! There were three children arguing over whose turn it was to set the table and eldest son was waving vegetables around proudly demonstrating his ability to create a salad penis. On the upside it did distract the girls from their quarrel. “What’s yours called?” asked middle daughter, as always ready to ask the tough questions. Son admitted he hasn’t named his, yet. BIG MISTAKE! “You should call it Hagrid” she immediately suggested.

Whether it follows our historic naming convention or not I don’t know but that is a mental picture I really didn’t need!