What’s in a Name?

In feudal Japan the word Ronin referred to a samurai that had lost his master. Rather than follow the “Code of the Warrior” and commit suicide after the death of his master, a Ronin would defy this rule and live a life on his own. Meaning “wave man,” a Ronin was known as one that resisted the rules and lived a life not ruled by another man, an independent wanderer. 

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My husband and I talked about baby names even before we were married. Sitting together, dreaming of our future, we couldn’t help but imagine who our kids would be. We’d throw around possible names. Some were totally ridiculous, others very traditional, but it became a game to try to piece together our future family. 

The summer before I got pregnant, we were sitting outside having a picnic with some friends when they started telling us about a family they knew. The husband went on to list the names of their boys and when he said “Ronin” my husband and I turned to each other with a look that meant, “Oh, I like that name. Make a mental note to add it to our list.” 

Neither of us said anything until we were in the car.  My husband went on to describe to me what a Japanese Ronin was. It referred to a type of samurai, one that paved his own path. In his eyes, it sounded “bad-ass.”  In my mind, I wondered if a little baby could hold such a big name but I was intrigued. 

The following year, we found out we were pregnant with a boy. The minute I heard the gender, I felt an overwhelming sense of duty to raise a boy that would be strong and confident yet a loyal gentleman. I don’t know if any other mothers experience this, but at that moment, I felt a need to fulfill a very important job. I was committed to raising a boy that could one day make the world better. 

Knowing the gender meant that we could scrap all the girl names we had generated and start seriously looking for the one for our future son. We had a few listed that made it past our double veto system. While driving to work one morning, mulling over the names in my head, I started tearing up realizing that the name Ronin contained the first three letters of my dad’s name. We had already discussed naming our son after one of our dads, but let’s face it, my grandma’s taste in names was quite different than mine and Ronald was instantly scratched. But, in choosing the name Ronin, we could still honor my dad.

So that was it, we were going to name our baby Ronin, our little masterless samurai. We didn’t share the name with anyone, keeping it our little secret until he was born. My friend once warned me, “Be careful what you name a baby, because your child will grow up to become that.” To me, that always sounded so ridiculous. There was no way that I could pick a name that would then come to embody another person…right? 

Well, let me tell you about my son. Before he was born we found out he was breech. Despite everything I did (and I tried it all from multiple trips to the chiropractor, laying upside down on pillows and talking to my unborn baby willing him to turn around) he remained breech until my scheduled C-section. He decided he wasn’t going to follow the typical path and give me the birth that was expected. 

After he was born, I wondered if this big name suited my little guy. His sweet, baby blue eyes and ginger colored hair didn’t seem to look like what I thought a Ronin should be. Months went by though and he developed his unique look and an even more unique personality. 

I was the mom running around, chasing my baby at music class. Never wanting to sit down and follow along, he became the little rebel in the group of quiet lap sitters. At the park I was constantly running after him.  He would dart across the field, fearless, never looking back to see where I was. He had a sense of independence that scared me as his mother. I felt like if I didn’t chase him, he’d never stop running. 

He was incredibly cooridnated too. I like to say that he started running before he started walking. He was always moving, never wanting to be still. His need to be physical was not something we taught him. One day, when he was not quite one yet, I was picking him up from daycare and the aid asked me if he had an older brother or cousin. Curious, I said, “No, why?” She went on to explain that he loved to wrestle and tackle some of the older boys and thought he was possibly exposed to that at home. Despite everything I did to teach him to be gentle, that just wasn’t him. His favorite game was to play “push” on the couch. 

From the minute he started walking, his knees were always bruised and scraped up. He had a way of taking some of the biggest falls but would get up and say, “I’m ok,” and continue to play. My mom friends at the park would look at me and ask how he was not hurt and honestly I don’t know. He should have come up to me crying, needing a kiss on his boo boo, but he would just run off like it was nothing. Maybe it was because he was just determined to keep playing and stopping because he was hurt would just get in the way of that. To this day, he doesn’t have one pair of jeans without holes in the knees.

I often think about my friend’s words and wonder if in choosing his name, I created this boy. I looked at the other mom at the library story time, sitting nicely with their toddlers in their lap, singing The Wheels on the Bus, and wondered how I ended up with the one crawling under the librarian’s easel. Did I create this? Could I really have done this to myself?

Slowly, I am seeing that his independent nature might not be a curse but rather a blessing. My little warrior started preschool at the age of three and while all the other kids clung to their mother’s legs, afraid to let go, mine bolted through the doors determined to explore every inch of the play yard. Fearlessly independent is how the teachers described him. I have started to get a glimpse of what a Ronin could be for this world. Although he was a handful as a toddler and in early childhood, there are moments when I realize his stubbornness and independence could actually turn into his greatest asset in the end. 

Naming a child is tough. You are essentially choosing something that will be their identity for their entire life. So the question is, does a name define who a person is to become? Maybe, in choosing my son’s name, we actually wanted him to be a fearless warrior willing to follow his own path. I knew I had a duty to bring a man into the world who would fight for what is right. Our world needs  men like that. At the age of seven, I think I’ve only seen a glimpse of the Ronin that my son will become.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click HERE to view the next post in the series “A Name”