Irony has presented itself to me in many situations over my life. I mean the irony that my mom and dad ended up together had to be the genesis of it all but the earliest one I can remember started in a little church in Fountain Inn, South Carolina.
A mission, formed from a larger white church probably 15 minutes away, separated by the color of their skin. Lead by a Caribbean pastor with his deep, thick accent that belted out over the congregation. The veins in his neck swelling to twice their size as his spit flung through the air from the force of love that spewed from his tensed lips. In that church sat, on a very strict Wednesday evening and twice on Sunday schedule, was 10 women, of which 3 were friends mothers. There was regularly 6 of us kids that would hang out and do the church kid things. But what later hit me in life was the names of the boys in our group. Our first initials were all in alphabetical order. Starting at K, and ending at N. Mind blowing right? Well what if I told you our ages are in order to. Starting at K being the oldest and N being the youngest. Cool, right? It’s true, too!
I met this girl on Facebook. We were in this Group together and I always thought she was cute and just wondered if she was single. Well, she wasn’t. Timing allowed us a single date, but the date was great. We walked, talked, she even fell asleep across my bed, but that night was reserved for the gentleman in me. I’ll talk about that on another post. But on this date, we laughed when reflecting on the fact that she not only found it odd that her babies father and the guy she was currently figuring it out with, had the same name. But that I too have the exact same name is the two of them. Mind blown! So the last three people who she dated were all named M. As the cliche goes. Third time was the charm.
Which leads me to my third and final point of irony. My wife’s first name is M just like mine and when we got married our marriage hashtag for that year was #sameinitials
Pseu·do·nym 