What's in a name?

I wonder if Kofi will forgive me his name?

When he was first born, I wanted to call him my little Coffee Bean (a cute version of Kofi Benjamin) and "my little monkey," each of which was vetoed by my sensible friend Marsha. So, I've been left calling him Kofiman (with a slight Jamaican accent), and occasionally the Kofinator (thanks, David), but mostly, just Kofi, or Kofi Benjamin, or Kofi Benjamin Ralston (often sung and I would post the music here, but I'm waiting to copyright it).

SO:
Much to my dismay, I was in Walgreen's in Brookline two weeks ago and woman came up to me and said, "Your son is so cute" -- (we get that a lot) -- "What's his name?" And when I told her "Kofi" she said, "Oh, that means 'little monkey' in Hebrew, or more literally, 'my monkey'."  Well, needless to say I was struck with panic and immediately emailed Eve who confirmed what the meddlesome Brookline language maven told me. I then reconfirmed it when I ran into a neighborhood Israeli acquaintance of mine: Yes, it means "my monkey."

Well, it was supposed to be Ghanaian, not Hebrew. Born on Friday. Like Kofi Annan (DOB 4/8/38 -- yes, a Friday: don't you love the web?) Not that he's Ghanaian. He's American. Born in Houston. But I liked the name, and will stick by it and make him proud to be my (well, now our) little wonderful-joyful-playful-bursting-with-energy son.

For those who are still following this blog:

http://stevenandrobsadoption.blogspot.com

He's walking, he's talking, he's wearing my glasses. So far, so good. A fever to 104 a few weeks ago, but we all survived. The most recent major frustration is trying to get a birth certificate so we can take him out of the country (Montreal, for God's sake!) and between the Massachusetts Courts ("We sent the paperwork") and the MA Registry of Births ("We never received the paperwork") and the Texas Registry ("Kofi?? What an INTERESTING name! But no, you're not the legal father, we can't issue you a birth certificate... but I LOVE that name, I'm so bored with all the James and Davids we have to do." -- imagine it all in an annoying drawl), it has been a lesson in bureaucratic insanity.

Well, if we can't do Montreal, we'll go to Vermont to the Von Trapp Family Lodge. Does it get gayer than that?