While I was working in my tape journal the other day, it reminded me of a funny conversation we had with Karen's daughter a couple weeks ago about how she hates her middle name. HATES IT! I think she hates it so much that if I say what it is she will fly back from Nashville just to kick me with her evil eye that she totally inherited from me. We thought it was hilarious because we love her name (she was named after Nana!) and we tried to make her feel better about everyone we know with a horrendous middle name. For example, our mom's middle name was Lenore. LENORE! Karen and I both have Russian middle names (Risa and Ilene). I never hated my middle name but it was an annoyance during highschool when everyone started singing Come On Eileen whenever they saw me. How did kids even know my middle name back then? Why did they even care? Like singing a bad song is such an insult that I would run home crying? Brat, please. Until we had this conversation with Emily, I had not really thought much about my middle name or the impact it has had on my life. Then I glanced down and my middle name was staring me in the face. It was all over my travel documents. I loved all the vertical lines of the repeating letters. All those L's, I's, and N's! Cool!
It will be fun to have this discussion again with Emily in twenty years when we flip through my journal.
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