Am I Blue?

In the Jewish tradition, we named our son after relatives who had left this world for other things. His first name a forgone conclusion, having been born so close to my grandmother's passing. His middle name, however, awaited his father's choice of an honoree.

After much deliberation, he settled on a favorite aunt who, although married, had led a childless life. She had no one to continue her name. But the good heart of my husband extended back two generations to ensure her remembrance.

Over our years together, he had told many fantastic stories of his Aunt Betty. Her boat, her exotic homes, her private plane. Oh yes, Aunt Betty must have been a grand great aunt. I was already sad to have never had the chance to know her.

We thus set out to find a name that began with the letter B, a modern Americanization of the ancient tradition. We poured through all manner of advice. One day, I hit the jackpot. Recalling my fondness for a certain strain of girls' names - those involving colors - I proposed "Blue" to my darling, traditionally minded husband. Much to my surprise and delight, he loved it. Our baby had a name!

Hunter Blue and I were watching TV one day, and the bunny on his show was becoming very sad because his day was not going as planned. The sadder he became, the more his color changed from a brilliant yellow to a deep, deep blue. Hunter, being only three years old, was perplexed.

"Mama, why is that bunny blue? I am Blue, not the bunny."

My heart sank all the way to the center of the earth. In our exuberance, we never considered that Blue was anything but a beloved color that would well represent Aunt Betty. I think I cried, I cannot recall. How did I tell my only child that his name stood for sadness?