Friday, January 06, 2006
When Francis Dances
It's a slow week, isn't it? I get a sense of intellectual pokiness permeating all of us. But Rachael of Ramblings figured out my name from the anagram instantly. This doesn't surprise me. Rachael is brilliant. If you've never read her, you're in for a treat. She is a terrific writer, very funny, brutally honest and unapologetically lives on the edge. When her blog doesn't appear for few days, I worry about her a lot.Most people want to know how my given name which is Francis, became Bud. My Dad wanted me to be a junior so he named me Frank on my birth certificate. He had legally changed his own name years before to Frank C. Buckley. That's a whole other long and mysterious story. My Mom said, "Okay, fine, but I don't want two Franks in the house." She had trouble enough calling out for my siblings and was known to substitute any one of several names including those of the pets. This condition has not changed as she approaches her nineties. So they needed a nickname for Frank Junior. Mom didn't want Frank Senior to come running when she needed me to own up to some boyish transgression she discovered. Like drawing on the wall in crayon or leaving muddy footprints on the counter that served as my stepladder to the cookies. I was born on Easter. Had I been a girl, I was gonna be called Bunny. How much does that suck? Bud was close to Bunny, I guess, and it also symbolized Spring. So that's how I became Bud.
The Francis part involves my life's nemesis, the Holy Roman Catholic Church. My father's mom hated catholics, so to spite her, my Mom insisted that her children would be baptized Catholic AND go to Catholic school. Visiting grandma was like a UN meeting with Cold War opponents. So when my parents showed up in church to baptize me, they were informed that there was no Saint Frank. They'd have to name me something else. So Francis it was. And the nuns refused to call me anything else when I got to school. I always hated that name. It didn't help that there was a popular movie series staring Francis the Talking Mule. Although it might have been Frances, the female version. Most people don't know the difference in spelling. I also had to endure people breaking into the dopey song from an earlier era, When Frances Dances With Me (Yesiree). See why it's simpler to just be Bud? The middle part of my name involves an even bigger joke and I'm too emotionally scarred by the whole thing to put it into print. Don't even ask.
Here's a picture of me riding a dolphin at Discovery Cove in mid December. I reported to you that the pictures cost way too much money. My darling daughter, Bree, sneakily bought this and sent it to me along with a few others. I used to swim with dolphins in the Atlantic early in the morning a few years ago when we still had the condo at Amelia Island. But I never touched one. This was quite a thrill. To feel the power of their tails is truly awesome.Have a splendid weekend, everybody. I still have to play three more gigs. If I'm awake at all Monday, I'll post.
posted by Bud @ 6:04 AM
Comments:
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The dolphin riding must have been fun! I know a lot of people who have been scarred by their names. I was very proud of mine, but understand how some one can come to dispise their name. Nuns suck! ;-)
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