It's a story from years ago. Junior high--a period of time in all our youths barely survived by anyone. I was in 7th grade, and a boy wanted to know my middle name. As a clever 13 year-old, I refused until he asked me for my middle initial. We could call this flirting, but if I remember correctly, I was just being stubborn - a rather comfortable state for me.
I finally offered him this gem: the first syllable of my first name is the initial of my middle name. There! Go figure that out! He considered it and with the reluctance of any 13 year-old who is totally unsure of his answer, he queried, "L?"
Yes.
But that was not good enough. See, I caved once so he plied me again and again for my middle name until I said, "Fine! The second syllable of my first name is my middle name!"
This time, after he sounded it out, there was no uncertainty. "Len." There was no hesitation. "Ellen Lynn." This time the full power of junior high orneriness came erupting forth as he proclaimed, "YOUR MOTHER STUTTERED WHEN SHE NAMED YOU!"
I am Ellen Lynn and this is my aptly titled blog.
