Saying Goodbye to a Legend

In July of this year, I gave up the Bird...the Bird's jersey number, that is. Yes, friends, I carried the number of my father's favorite sports hero for 365 days and it came to a welcomed end at precisely 3:17 during the wee morning hours of the 16th.

Growing up in Indiana, you have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to revere basketball as the greatest game ever played, and living in the Name household was no exception. My dear father was disappointed in my own lack of sports-related, genetically transmitted ability, yet he always had the Bird to remind him to keep hope alive as he had two other kids who might be able to distinguish an alley-oop from an assist (Larry had a superstar b-ball daughter too). My dad believed the Bird's story to be a rags-to-riches inspiration as both my father and he were small town, Hoosier born, corn fed country boys, self taught in the art of the jump shot, practicing for hours on end in hopes to be the best and school the rest. The Skipper proudly donned number 33 in every sport he ever played and I always thought the resemblances between these two talented men were astounding both on and off the court (with the exception of me getting the better father, of course).

One time many years ago, I made a concerted effort to show my dad I, too, was worthy of his number and by boxing everyone out on my high school powderpuff team, I was the first to claim that black, shiny 33. I thoughtfully chose Lil' Skip for my jersey name and together with the rest of my team, marched onto the October field to secure the most highly prestigious victory in the history of Western High. As with most intentions in my life, I began the game with as much enthusiasm as Coach Calhoun's devastatingly inspirational speech in Grease, yet my recessive gene for clumsiness and outright football idiocy took over and I was benched by halftime. Not only was my coordination in dire need of back-to-back summer camps, my 33rd year of life was in need of a full-service rehabilitation clinic as it was a year I was ready to say goodbye to for many reasons. It seemed like the storms of life were raging and were as wild as the Bird's fire-red hair, as bumpy as his aquiline nose, and as controversial as his freshmen year at Indiana University. However, although my 33 may not have been retired with as much fanfare as the greatest Celtic of all time, the Names have been known to put on a good party or two and couldn't let the ushering in of number 34 go unnoticed. This year's celebration was marked by a "wear your stretchy pants 'cause we're going to eat a lot of breadsticks and alfredo sauce" party at the ever popular and always palatable Olive Garden Italian Restaurant.


Gram and me


Gabe and Christian


Dad and Grams


Xavier protesting his picture being taken.

After we stuffed ourselves and separated the now-sparring cousins, Thaus and I returned home to partake of a "better than sex cake" compliments of my Gram. It kinda tasted like runny pineapple with a splash of vanilla, but Grams gets an 'A' for effort.


We attempted to bathe Xavier before the cutting of the cake and he thought it was fun to hide in his bed, squealing with delight any time his dad even got near him.


I have to thank my very talented stepmom for her amazing quilting abilities as she made me a beautiful pumpkin wall hanging that will euphorically be hung this September 1st. (Have I mentioned that my autumn decor goes up Sept. 1 and stays up until Thanksgiving, removing only the Halloween specific items?) I love, love, love this wall hanging!


Sandy also found me a patriotic Little Golden Book on her last antiquing excursion and my dad presented me beautiful shell earrings from Kauai, although I couldn't get a good shot of them. Their shimmer was messing up the picture. Next year, I will have to save up for a more shimmer-friendly camera.

I feel it important to mention that even though my past year was a humbling journey through a refining fire, I am thankful for the support of a loving family. The gospel buoys me when I feel weak, and I thoroughly enjoy the blessings of temple service and worship. I know I may never be able to make that elusive three-point shot, but with the help of my family, we can 3-on-3 with the best of 'em.