Our son Jack is called “Jack” and his twin brother is called “Mark” for a reason. Here’s the reason:
Jack was born first, and he won’t very pretty. The first time I saw him I thought, I sure am glad he’s a boy. If he was a girl, she would have a hard time finding a fellow. You might disagree, and that’s all right with me, but I think a man can do without good looks more easily than a woman.
And then along came Mark and he looked like Hollywood.
Both of their grandfathers, John F. Stith Sr. and Jack B. Hyland, were called “Jack” and we figured that, consciously or unconsciously, they would favor the grandson named Jack. So we gave the not-so-handsome son the name that we thought would endear him to his grandfathers.
The handsome son would be called Mark Harrison.
* * *
Jack, who is profoundly retarded, has a tiny vocabulary which made his comment on a photo in the newspaper all that much more surprising.
He can only say 12 or 15 words, words like “work,” “finished” and “beach” and his favorite foods — “shrimp,” “pizza,” and “cookie.”
Jack can’t read, of course, but he liked to look at newspapers. On this particular day there was a picture on the front page of a bad train wreck. Railroad cars were piled up, sticking out every which way.
Jack studied the photo and then said, “Broken!”
Postscript:
Mark was supposed to have been called “Hank” but his mother loved the name “Mark” and wouldn’t call him anything else.
Coming Monday: Strange But True, Parts I and II