20 years ago, my parents thought it’d be a great idea to let their 10-year-old first-born name their latest DNA-splicing experiment.
So of course, she1 picked the name of the protagonist of the book she was reading at the time, and thus, Tom was christened. Just Tom, plain ol’ Tom.
I honestly could not tell you what the title of the book was, or what it was about. I do remember vividly opposing the name my Ma had originally picked: Marvin. I am not entirely sure why she thought Marvin would be a good idea, but am I glad she was foolish enough to relinquish the naming duty to me. I think her backup was Théo, which I also opposed vehemently, arguing that it would rhyme with ‘météo’2, and that he’d be the butt of all the jokes every time the weather lady would come on the teevee at 8:30pm every day.
So, happy birthday, Tom! Here’s to another year of not running into you at 21+ shows! But hey, at least you’ll forever be my favourite booger.