History of Names

 

Hayter for January 27, 2024

‘History of names”

            I once asked Mom who she named me after. She said, “Nobody. I just liked the name, Mark.” Before I started writing this piece, I looked up my name on a list of boy names for 1949. “Mark” was rated 24^th out of 1000. Right after “Jerry”.  I’ve never met a Jerry I didn’t like. But I never liked the name “Jerry”.

 When I asked Mom where she got my middle name, she said it was my Uncle Bud’s middle name. Bud Scott Teegarden? At the time, my uncle had to be the only Bud Scott on the planet.

Before you got here, I researched the Teegarden family tree that Kay compiled and discovered that Elsie had no older brother named Bud. His name appeared as “Leodis”. Leodis! It’s a Celtic name that translates as “From the land of Leod”. Back before WWI, someone in Bristow, Oklahoma was given the name “Celt from Leod”. Mom said they never called her brother Leodis. He was always Bud.

Here's where it turns mysterious. Leodis's middle name was the initial, “L”. There is no way on God’s green earth that you can get the word “Scott” out of an L. Begs the question, where did Mom get the name Scott?! She can’t tell me now. And even if she was here, I wouldn’t trust her.

            Noticing my despair, Kay took it upon herself to see if there was a Teegarden named “Scott” on the Family Tree. There were two. My great, great, great grandfather was named Windfield Scott Teegarden as was his father. I don’t know if Mom knew this when she named me, but I’m saying she did. She just forgot. The woman had four boys and three girls to name, so I decided to cut her some slack.

            My dad didn’t name any of his children. He was an only child who had to carry the name “Faris” with him for 62 years. There’s no telling what he would’ve done had he been the one to name his children. Regardless, I don’t use my middle name unless it’s required of me or I’m writing an article about names.

            Right now, I choose to skip the history of my family names and go right to names given to some famous Native Americans. Let’s start with Chief Sitting Bull of the Lakota Tribe. How did his parents, after looking at their newborn child, come up with the name of a bison, an animal that may lay down but never sits?

            It just so happens, that at birth Sitting Bull was given the name “Slon-ha” or “Slow”.  I can only assume that, at birth, it took him a long time to show himself. Later in life, Slow’s father was named Jumping Bull. Native Americans weren’t good at keeping records of where their names came from.

It turns out that at the age of 10, “Slow” showed himself to be quite the hunter, earning him the name “Jumping Badger”. I couldn’t find the connection, but I’m not arguing with anyone from the Lakota Tribe. When the Badger boy was 14, he displayed great horsemanship and distinguished himself at a battle against a tribe of Crow. After that he was given the name “Tatanka-Iyotanka” translated “Sitting Bull.”

            What we can gather from that is Native American children were given a less-than-fascinating name at birth. If they never accomplished themselves in life, they would keep their birth-name till death. Had Sitting Bull not been such a learned and accomplished child he would have died “Slow”.  

            Crazy Horse had it nearly as bad. At birth, he had lighter skin and hair than anyone else in the tribe. His light hair came out curly, so that’s what he was named. “Curly Hair”. Fortunately, at the age of 18, Curly showed himself to be exceptionally brave in a battle. After battling against the Arapaho, he was such a great warrior, that he was given his father’s name  -- “Crazy Horse”. Curly’s Dad must have become less warrior-like over the years because he was renamed “Waglúla” which translates as “Worm”.

            While I feel sorry that his original name was “Curly Hair” I hate that he got a great name change while his father got humiliated. I’ll have to research that when I get time. Let’s face it, Crazy Horse is so much better sounding than Curly Horse. I can just hear the 7^th Calvary chanting “Bring on Curly Horse!” He would’ve never made it to the Little Big Horn with a name like that.  

            One more. Let’s go with “Dances with Wolves”.  That was what the Sioux called Kevin Costner’s character after noticing him dancing with a wolf. The Lakota tribe from South Dakota was more practical with names. Costner’s translator, played by Mary McDonnell was given the name “Stands with a fist” after knocking out a warrior’s wife for constantly picking on her. That gives reason for her name.

            Not in this age and time. We come up with names that sound good. They’re based on nothing but the sound of the word. “I named you ‘Mark’ because I liked the sound of it.” 

            I’m beginning to wish I had written a thesis on “The History of Names”. Civilizations since the time of man have come up with names that in some way identify something about the person. What say each of us come up with a new name for ourselves that in some way says something about us? Remember, the name “Batman” is taken.

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

Disbelief in Hell?

 

Hayter for January 21, 2024

“Calling for You and for Me"

 

          I was driving south on I-45 last week and was feeling upbeat. I don’t know what I was looking forward to, but I felt good about something.

          From out of the blue of the western sky, came a horrible thought. It was the sudden notion of having a wreck or a heart attack and suddenly dying.” I felt miserable at the thought of missing out on whatever it was that I was looking forward to.

Fortunately, my despair didn’t last long. Short-lived despair is easier to take than long-term. My sinking spell vanished almost as quickly as it arrived. What made it go away? -- The substance of things hoped for.

That is half of someone’s definition of the word “faith”. The author of Hebrews wrote “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” In a court of law, something that is unheard or unseen is not accepted as evidence.

Obviously, faith alone is no evidence at all. In fact, the number of deaths caused by faith is more numerous than flies in the Australian Outback.

Nations in Europe and Asia have fought numerous wars over religious beliefs, several of which involved Christians against non-Christians. Wars have been going on in the Middle East since before the time of Jesus. The Jews fought practically every non-Jewish group they encountered, both before and after the time of Jesus. At the moment they’re still at war with Muslim terrorist groups.

The bottom line, in the history of mankind the religious among us have not gotten along well. The reason for this low threshold of tolerance has to do with a belief in the afterlife. I’m definitely a believer in that. So was my Mom.

Elsie Hayter was far from being a heathen. She went to church three times each week. Six times a week during vacation Bible school. She taught Sunday school classes, but she never taught Dennis and me. However, she did make it a point to lead us along the path of righteousness. Spankings increased my faith considerably.

A couple of weeks before her death, Mom told one of her kids that she was afraid she didn’t do enough good things in life for God to let her into heaven. It broke my heart.

The Hayter family heard more fire and brimstone sermons than is healthy. Over the years different preachers seemed elated in telling us that if we don’t straighten up, we were going straight to hell. There is no telling how many times I’ve heard sermons on how bad hell is.  Of course, we couldn’t say the word “hell” or else we’d go there.

 

While I have the faith of a Christian, I can’t prove my faith is fact. To argue such a thing would make me faithless. Remember, faith is the substance of things hoped for. I would’ve been booted out of so many different churches had I mentioned my lack of belief in some Biblical interpretations.

I don’t believe hell is a place where we’re given new bodies so we can burn forever. Our time on earth is a nanosecond when compared to the existence of mankind. The thought that God would burn anyone forever is ungodly. Right now, there are some thinking, “Boy, are you gonna find out how wrong you are!” 

Archeologists have discovered the bones of humanoids and etchings in stone that go back a million years. It’s facts like that, that make me sense that Adam and Eve may not have been the only humans on the planet. That causes me to doubt that Adam named all of the animals or that there was a worldwide flood that killed all but Noah and his immediate family. I don’t believe Moses wrote the book of Genesis. Who else could’ve? I don’t know.

I have read practically none of the millions of books that have been written. That’s an indication that I know practically nothing of substance. However, I’m in the same category as people all over the world who believe in one of the thousands of gods that others have worshiped over time. I can’t prove the existence of my God. The closest I can come is through faith, and as mentioned previously, faith is not fact.

All I have are incidents in my life that have encouraged my faith. One I’ve already written about, but would like to share again. It involves Elsie and Faris’ eldest daughter, Lynda. My sister died in 2005 after a 10-year bout with Alzheimer's.

Shortly before she passed away, I visited her in the Alzheimer's wing of a particular hospital. The patients were not assigned individual rooms, they either sat in a wheelchair in the hallway or walked into whatever room they chose. They might lay in bed and sleep, or sit and stare.  It took me some effort to find my sister. A nurse eventually pointed to the room where she last remembered seeing her.

Sure enough, Lynda was lying in bed on her side. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t appear to be looking at anything. Not even her guest. I sat on the floor next to the bed and began telling her about Kay and me and the rest of the family. Her expression never changed.

I eventually thought to sing her an old hymn. You may have heard of “Softly and Tenderly”. I started singing, “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling—” At that very moment my dear sister said, “Calling for you and for me.”

I was unable to finish the song. I could only cry. I don’t know how or why my sister’s mind appeared to function at that particular moment, allowing her to finish a verse from one of my favorite hymns. I can’t prove it, but to this day I continue to believe that it was a message to me brought on by faith. It’s not evidence in something unseen. It’s the substance of things hoped for. Hope is much easier. 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

Family Oddities

 

Hayter for January 14, 2024

“A collection of family oddities”

          I’ve got a question just for the grown-ups. – Kids, it does not apply to you, so ignore it. Here we go. – When you were young, what did you call the small piece of cloth that you used when you bathed?

          My family and every family that lived on my block called it a ‘washrag’. It was decades before I was introduced to the word “washcloth”. It sounds so sophisticated to me.  

          I started thinking about this while folding laundry yesterday as Kay was hanging up clothes. It was while folding a washrag that the name struck me as odd. Let’s face it. It’s a lousy name for something you touch your naked body with. That’s the name you call something that you use to remove spots from the floor. And “washcloth” sounds like something from Downton Abbey.

          I asked  Kay what her family called a washrag. She explained that they called a washrag a washrag. “When I was young, the family was poor so Mom made washcloths out of old towels. We referred to them as washrags, because that’s what they were, rags to wash with. Get it?.”

While I didn’t know the origin of the word “washrag”, I thought Kay shouldn’t have answered in a way that made me look stupid. I was the fifth child born to Faris and Elsie. Mom must’ve been ripping towels for years before I was born. I called them washrags same as the rest of the family. Mom never explained the name to me, and I didn’t ask. I was so much less curious back then.

Regardless, my recent history lesson on the“washrag” helped me realize that I was born to a poor family and lived in a poor neighborhood where none of the kids ever heard of a washcloth. 

So, here’s the question: When you were young, what did you call the piece of cloth that was in the tub with you?  If you answer, I promise not to mention your name to anyone.

It was the folding of a “washrag” that made me decide to write about family oddities. I immediately came up with several but decided to ask my siblings about their memories.

Dennis reminded me that Dad called the meringue on Mom’s pies “calf slobber”. I always thought it was Dennis who came up with the name. When it comes to food preparation, Mom was a great cook. Yet, her meringue never looked like the one that Wyatt’s Cafeteria put on their coconut crème pies. I don’t remember ever seeing a single Hayter kid eating Mom’s meringue. I’m only telling you about it now because Mom’s in heaven and doesn’t give two hoots what either Dennis or Dad called her meringue.

Dennis also said that Dad used to say, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” I think he got that from the refinery where he worked. One thing each of us said back then as well as today is “fixin’ to“.That’s such a misuse of the word “fix”.

You’re supposed to say -- “I’m about to” or “going to”, “probably will” or “have a notion to”.  You’re not fixing to eat a bowl of cereal. You can’t fix something like that. All you can do with cereal is pour it out of a box and eat it. Yet to this day, I’m still fixin’ to eat a bowl of cereal. That’s how grownups ruined my language.

Larry, the eldest brother, mentioned that Daddy used to say, “Don’t get your tail on the dashboard.” That was all he had! And it’s not even right. You get your tail in a crack, not over a dashboard. That can’t even be done. I love my big brother, but he really blew this one.

My kid-sister Jill mentioned some games we used to play. I don’t remember any games we played that were as complicated as hers. -- Before playing tag we had to choose which person was the tagger. To do that we gathered in a circle with both fists held out.  The leader (whoever that was) would fist bump each fist while chanting, "My Mom-ma and your Mom-ma were hanging out clothes…” I remember the chant, but I don’t remember everything that followed. I think I was too dumb to play the game.

 Jill also mentioned that we played Red Rover. I do remember that one. Two teams would stand in a straight line with a wide space between them. Each side is clasping hands with the person next the them. A kid from one of the sides yells, “Red rover, red rover, let Dennis come over!” Dennis would immediately unhand the person on each side of him and run across the yard hoping to bust through two clinched hands. I don’t remember what happened after that.

          Al didn’t have anything to add to our family oddities. He is the youngest of Faris and Elsie’s kids, so he missed out on a lot of oddities. He would’ve loved our somersault races, but Mom made us quit because Jill really got her bell rung.

          The second oldest sister, Susan, has yet to reply to my request for oddities. She lives in Washington State and stays busy. She’ll send me something in a few weeks. It will probably be something about her grandkids, and have nothing to do with when we were kids. When you’re around kiddos for a long duration, your memories of the long past are less remembered.

          I can remember much of my past. I’m best at remembering songs. However, as mentioned before, my short-term memory is shot. I have trouble finding what I’m looking for. Speaking of which. I like that song by U2. --  “I believe in the Kingdom Come/Then all the colors will bleed into one/Bleed into one/ But yes, I'm still running…”  -- Next time.

 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com