Yelling Out the Backdoor...

We have a little game we play around here when we are alone to test out grandkid names. We stand at the backdoor and yell the name with all the fake urgency that can be mustered into the wilds of the yard. Lately we have been yelling:

MILO EUGENE ZAMORA GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! 

It's a test just to see how it rolls off the tongue. I think this name will tumble out well. 

Now of course we would not really call a grandkid in this way. You can imagine all sitting down to a dinner at our table, it's all set with my mouther's pink rose china pattern that she bought in the late 1940s before she was married to my dad and all heads are bowed in reverent and appropriate postures of thankful grace for the thoughtfulness of adults who go ahead and serve meatball, wieners and other delicacies so kids will eat without any fuss and someone sings out:

GRANDMA GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! 

It's not a good look. 

Eugene is my middle name. I was called Carl Gene by my parents up until my teenage years when I realized that I could have a say in my fate and that name seemed at the time to definitely have a bit of a backwoods ring to it so I asked my parents not to use it when yelling out the backdoor for me to come in the house. Some of my cousins and oldest family friends still call me that and I'll answer to it, it's ok. I've kind of stayed in the backwoods anyway.

Old Milo Eugene will be here late May and I'll ask him what he wants to be called.