Does anybody know if Hindu fanatics have ever started a protest over Yogi Bear?
It might surprise you that I’m on the side of the Sudanese nutters who thought it was a big deal to name a teddy bear Mohammed. It’s not the greatest name for a teddy. If teddies weren’t so busy being adorable, they’d be up in fluffy arms too.
Which isn’t to say that bears don’t get angry. Ever try eating their porridge or sitting in their chairs? I accept, however, that I probably crossed the line by sleeping in Daddy Bear’s bed, given that Mommy Bear was in it at the time.
I suppose bear-kind would’ve been as upset as the Sudanese stone-throwers if somebody had named a human baby after one of the great bear prophets. So, when considering human baby names, best steer clear of Paddington, Pooh and Baloo.
Still, one could do worse. Personally, I intend to.
The way I see it, having children is the ultimate act of egocentricity. It’s selfish. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I intend to be an outstandingly selfish parent.
Before we even get to the cost-saving implications of manufacturing one’s Persian rugs and designer sports shoes in-house, let’s think about the fun that will be derived from giving your child a conclusively ridiculous name.
For example, what if I were to name my first son Juan and the second one … Two? Sadly, unless they were twins or from two different mothers, I’d have to wait nine months to deliver the punchline.
Luckily, the language provides so many common nouns that, if you put their actual meanings aside for a second, they could make really pretty names for girls. Say these out loud:
Gasoline.
Petroleum.
Ammonia.
And let’s not get hung up on chemical compounds. Consider the music conjured by the four sweet syllables of Salmonella.
There’s a name I’ll reserve for my favourite, however. A boy. See, I once met a guy called De Matteo (yes, his first name) and that made me think: why not Dammit?
Apart from sounding like a solid, strong name for a boy, imagine the colour it will bring to everyday language.
“Stop that, Dammit!”
“Put that down, Dammit!”
And, occasionally, I hope,
“You’re a good boy, Dammit.”
One can go too far, of course. Naming a child Hamlet is asking for trouble. Try getting him to stop talking to himself and rather go throw a ball around outside.
Then there’s the name Oedipus, which has nothing to recommend it.
Not that people don’t routinely do worse. I can only assume that parents who name their little girl Candice — which is inevitably cuted down to Candy — intend for her to pursue a career in exotic dancing. You might as well name her Bambi, which is a sensible name only if you’re a woodland creature.
Stay away from names that are often misspelt or mispronounced. This rules out Agamemnon and Beelzebub, though the last one will start making sense by the time your child reaches the terrible twos or teen-hood.
Beware unfortunate first- and last-name combinations.
Brad Pitt has a mostly unknown brother who is both better looking and a better actor than Brad. Why the relative obscurity? Might it be the fact that his first name is Harm?
Of course, if you’re determined to do your child a good deed and sacrifice the entertainment value, you can save him a lot of trouble in later life by picking a name that’s also a title. Doctor Khumalo’s parents, for example, spared their child seven years in medical school.
These issues aside, baby naming is easy. It’s the teddy bear naming that we’ll be struggling with in the future. Though we can now agree that Mohammed is a no-no.
Further, Abraham is probably a bad name for a Cabbage Patch doll and Jesus is a rotten choice for the family pet. Unless you have a hamster called The Holy Ghost and a cat called God, thus completing the Holy Trinity. It isn’t as if the cat doesn’t already think it’s a higher power.
Regardless, it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who names inanimate objects after people I revere. Heck, as I write this column on a deck chair in the garden, beside me is a knee-high man made of moulded plaster, wearing a pointy blue hat and a long white beard, perched on an oversized toadstool.
I call him Gnome Chomsky.