The Name Story

Brower.

Have you ever heard a name quite so country? No, you haven't.

At least not until you've heard one of my family members on my father's side say it. It sounds kind of like "Briar," as if they were far too tired to acknowledge the W's existence. But these people also call their aunts, "aints." I've been told that you can fake a good southern accent if you pretend you've got a mouth full of molasses. Well these people sound like they've got syrup running through their veins.

Br-arr.

I used to cringe when teachers would do roll call on the first day of school. It was annoying enough that my mother named me Kathryn and everyone called me "Katie," but then the teacher would get to the last name and look at it like it was a rubix cube.

"Bro-er?"

"Bowser??"

"Bower???"

I would raise my hand, lower my head, all the while thinking, "Brower can't possibly be that hard."

When I was little I dreamed of the day I would get married and shed that awful last name.

It wasn't until my father's death that I realized what a beautiful, lovely, and perfect last name it really was. When people introduced me as "one of Tony Brower's girls" I would beam with pleasure. Now when my name is called, even when it is called incorrectly, I look up with a smile on my face and proudly say,

"It's Brower."