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EVOLution Came out kicking and screaming, “Meanest baby I’ve ever seen!” I wouldn’t stopped bawling, Just like my mom the night she announced, “Her name is Megan.” A far cry from the plan - Gretchen, Which mom decided sounded too mean, (Like I’d be if I’d spent the last 23 years with that name). Take out the “g” and you’re still left with Mean. Cut Mean in half and you’re left with Me. Megan means Precious. Brave. Pearl… Yeah, right…more like the oyster shell the pearl came in. It glides off the tongue without a thought and floats out of memory, Perfectly plain. Perfectly mundane. Like saying “Honey, take out the trash” or “Weather sure is nice today.” Muttering normalcy and conformity. Not like my last name. No one ever gets VanDoran right: “Yes…V-a-n-D-o-r-a-n. Sure, I can spell that out for you. V as in Victor, D as in Delta…no, it’s “an” not “en.” N…as in November, the month I was born, Friday the 13th to be exact. Umm..Yes, VanDoran. You’ve got it!” Over and out. Poppy told me how to spell it out for people that way. It’s phonetic. How he did it in the military, Where he spent his life Fighting for our country. A country that didn’t even care enough To spell our last name right On the immigrant paper work When the VanDorens came to work in America. They waited their turn, Standing in the back of the line, Just like I’ve always done. The last to go, last on the class role, It was all worth it to hear “VanDoran” out loud. I lovelovelove my last name. It sounds distinguished. Important. Royal, maybe even Rich, Like the desserts Granny VanDoran made. Granny made me feel at home in the kitchen, But I blame her for my big ‘ol bottom, As big as the love and kindness I inherited from my mom And the loyalty she has given to my father, Who left me his temper, ego, and selfishness. We share blue eyes and spicy food, burning Like famous pin-up girl Mamie VanDoren’s smoldering stare. Her wild spirit runs through me and makes me feel alive. She got whatever she wanted, always so seductive and smooth, Like Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles VanDoren’s words As they flowed from his mind though pen to paper. His love for passionate expression moves me, Like my great granddad’s trumpet jazz, Music played out like his life, A life that left me a love for music and a warning To keep from warming myself with what’s found inside a bottle, Like the one that fell from his hand, As he walked along the moonlit tracks And crashed, Like the train into him, Like all of these faces, all of their stories, Colliding to create Megan.
“Life in abundance comes only through great love.” - Elbert Hubbard
“Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose…” – Kevin Arnold
