Merlot (A Year of Writing Prompts)

          They named their baby Merlot.  Seriously?  This poor child will spend the rest of her life having to explain that her parents named her after a red wine.  I always knew my best friend and her family leaned toward a bohemian life style, which was totally cool with me.  They had this free spirit, fun loving attitude, grew their own food, and built their home from the ground up.  They even turned me into a pescatarian.  That’s saying a lot since I come from one of Texas’ royal family of cattle ranchers.  Steak and potatoes were on the menu for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  My family almost disowned me when I told them I no longer ate red meat.  But my best friend’s family supported my choice and even offered to adopt me.  Of course, my family learned to live with my choice, but I had to find a different path in life since running a cattle ranch and not eating the produce wouldn’t fly with our distributors or purchasers.  I became a college geology professor, which my parents thought fit right in with my new bohemian family.

            But to have my bestie name her child Merlot?  Their explanation was the child was conceived after a really great bottle of the red wine.  Okay.  I get it.  It must have been a tasty bottle and a whole lot of fun after, but do you really want your child to know that story let alone relay that to people when she gets older?  Mom and Pop, my best friend’s parents, were always very open about everything, literally everything, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  I remember I would test their openness by asking stupid questions.  Not once did they shy away from the harsh realities of explaining the mating rituals of wild geese or birthing methods of a blue whale or, my personal favorite, a queen bee’s choice in males.  The explanations were always very tasteful and biologically correct, but I got a kick out of how they were never embarrassed explaining things of nature.  And very thorough.  My own parents, even though we helped in many cow births, couldn’t explain where babies came from and left it to the cattle hands to run down the whole birds and bees stories.

            My poor goddaughter.  She will have such difficult times unless her parents, Mom and Pop, and I train her to be comfortable with herself.  I’ll probably take her on a few excursions to a boxing ring.  Just in case.  As I sit here, shaking my head, and enjoying a glass of red wine, I think about the world this beautiful baby is growing up in.  She’ll need to be tough.  She’ll need to stay grounded.  And she’ll probably need to stay away from merlot when she gets married.