JanDunlap.com

In the past six months, I’ve met a lot of people during my author talks and book signings. Since many people like to have their book inscribed as well as signed, I make a point of asking for the correct spelling of names when I pull out my pen. And while I’ve written at least a hundred names since last fall, I’ve never had one as unusual as the one I found myself writing in a book last weekend: Triton.

No, he didn’t have a trident, nor was he riding a mammoth seahorse, and he sure as heck didn’t have a fishtail sweeping the floor behind him. This Triton was about three feet tall, four years old and as cute as the proverbial button.

“Triton?” I repeated when his grandfather introduced me to the boy.

Grandpa, who was obviously a member of a less-creative naming generation, rolled his eyes. “Yes. Triton. And don’t ask me what my son and daughter-in-law were thinking when they came up with it, because I have no idea.”

“Maybe they’re big fans of Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid’ movie,” I suggested. “King Triton was awesome in it.”

Grandpa looked at Triton and smiled. “I guess ‘The Little Mermaid’ is better than ‘The Lion King.’ I could have ended up with a grandson named Pumba.”

Actually, the more I think about it, Triton is a great name for a kid. It’s straight out of Greek mythology and what little guy wouldn’t want to be named for the son of the sea god Poseidon? In fact, if you had twin boys, why not name them Triton and Poseidon? You could have a pair of Sea Kings. Imagine how much fun that would be. You could get them matching water wings for when they took swimming lessons and have their names printed on the wings with indelible ink.

“Yes, those little guppies are mine,” you’d proudly say as they took to the water like they were born with fins. “We just knew the names were right for them. Triton, blow those bubbles, honey! And stop splashing that little girl in the face! Poseidon, stop hitting the nice swim instructor with your trident!” You smile at the other parents, shrugging your shoulders in apology. “Sea Kings will be Sea Kings, you know.”

Although, at some point, you’d probably have to put your foot down as the boys got older and more self-confident.

“I don’t care if you are named for mighty Greek legends. Eat your vegetables! And don’t tell me you won’t eat the tuna sandwiches I made because those were once your loyal subjects. These loyal subjects came out of a can!”

“The bathroom is not your domain! There are other people in this house, you know, and we need to shower, too, so get out NOW! Sea Kings or not!”

“No more aquariums! Twelve is enough! I’m beginning to feel like I’m living in Underwater World – I’m dreaming about sharks and fish bait!”

And what if you had other kids? Would you have to name them Zeus, Hades or Hera? Would they play games of cosmic domination?

“Mom! Hera took my Helm of Darkness again!”

“Okay, Hera. Give the Helm back to your brother Hades. You know how that upsets him. And Hades, how many times do I have to tell you that Cerberus stays outside? He drools like a faucet and his barking frightens Zeus.”

“But he gets to be King of the gods, Mom! I never get to be King of the gods!”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Hades. Okay, just for today, you can be King of the gods. If Zeus says you can’t, you tell him I said so. And tell those Sea Kings to get out of the bathroom, NOW!”

On second thought, maybe giving children names from Greek mythology isn’t such a great idea after all.

I inscribed the book to Triton and then noticed his sister peering at me from behind Grandpa.

“And this would be…?” I held my breath. Ariel? Athena?

“Victoria,” the little girl said.

“Do they call you Vicki?” I asked.

“No,” she regally announced. “Victoria, like the Queen.”

I glanced at Grandpa. “You got a King and a Queen. What does that make you?”

“Exhausted,” he laughed.

“I believe it,” I assured him as I finished inscribing the book. Royalty is so demanding…