Somewhere out there, a child is named after me.
From the first through third grades, I attended the school in Coupland, Texas, a smallish, four-classroom edifice whose cornerstone gave the date, I believe, of 1912. The school accommodated grades one through eight (with grades one and two sharing one room and teacher, grades three and four another, and so forth). My mother was employed here as the special education teacher (and had her own room, as I now recall), and my sister (three and a half years older than me) was likewise enrolled here during this time; we made the drive from our home in Austin to the small town of Coupland each morning, a good twenty to thirty minute drive as I recollect.
One of my classmates through those first three years was a little girl named Sophia, with whom I remember getting along well enough. My best buds at the time, though, were Jeffery and Margaret, and Susan, a little older than me, upon whom I nourished a childish, pre-sexual crush. When my mother withdrew me and my sister after the completion of my third year, and we transferred to Austin schools, I quickly lost contact with these former playmates.
Some fifteen years later, after I had finished college and had settled into working life, my mother called me one evening at home. She had a story she was eager to share with me. She had recently attended a football game or other public event in one of the small towns east of Austin, like Coupland, but in this case Elgin, I believe. Seated on one of the stands was a pretty young woman with a little boy beside her. This young woman waved at my mother, and getting her attention, said to her, "Mrs. Moore, do you remember me? I'm Sophia...from Coupland." My mother did remember Sophia at this point, and expressed her delight in seeing her after all these years. Sophia indicated the child next to her, and said, "And this is my son, Scott...I named him after your Scott."
Sophia went on to say how much she enjoyed knowing me, of how much she cherished her fond memory of me, and of how I had never been forgotten. She stated that she knew that if or when she ever had a little boy, she would name him after me. And this had come to pass.
I was filled with wonder and gratitude as my mother related this story to me. I was astonished that I had touched Sophia, a person whom I had not seen since both of us were no more than eight or nine, in such a way. And I had done nothing more than simply be myself, a child relating to another child. I felt humbled and exalted all at once.
Sometimes, when I am feeling low, overlooked, or dejected in some way, I call up this story for myself, to remind myself that I have the power to impact the lives of others in a positive way. And I cherish the thought that somewhere out in the world, a human being named in my honor is forging his own way through life, making his own history and legacy as a man called Scott. God bless you, Scott and Sophia, wherever you may be.
In gratitude,
Scott
