What's In a Name?

"What a beautiful name! I've never heard that before- is there a story behind it?"

In the three weeks since my daughter's arrival, we've heard this from nearly everyone we've spoken to- receptionists, pediatricians, nurses, family friends, you name it. At first I was a little worried; "beautiful" could easily have been swapped out for "unusual" or "weird." And I must admit, it is beautiful and a little unusual all at once. But yes, there is a story. And the story has it all: family, feuds, and lots of books.

My mother and I are always immediately linked; similar laughs, eyes, southern accents that emerge when we're feeling particularly sassy. You'd never have trouble knowing we're related. But I seem to have all the secret sides of my dad: introvert, bookworm, Anglophile, type A... I'm absolutely his daughter as much as my mother's.

I was about ten years old and my dad was rushing out the door for work when he paused to ask me, "I'm planning to stop by the bookstore on the way home tonight. Is there anything you want me to look for?" I immediately had an answer. I described a book series I was working my way through by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. Set on a West Virginia river, these books were about two families, the Hatfords and the Malloys, who were constantly fighting and pranking one another. I couldn't remember the name of the series but as I continued to talk, my dad looked more and more amused.

"The Hatfords and Malloys?" he asked. "Don't you mean the Hatfields and the McCoys?" I rolled my eyes. Could I have been any more clear? No, the Hatfords and Malloys. But alas, I clarified for Dad again.

This time he laughed. "I think the author is making a joke. There were real families, the Hatfields and the McCoys, that lived on the border of West Virginia and Kentucky a long time ago that didn't like each other and fought quite a bit. They even killed each other." I was reluctant to believe him- first of all, because he was laughing at me, and secondly because how did he know about these random fighting families? He went on to explain, "Because that's where I grew up. All that fighting took place all around my home and school and where we worked."

Now it was my turn to be shocked. My dad had never "grown up"! He had always been my dad, always worn sweater vests, and always lived right here in Texas with me! He hadn't existed before me, and certainly not in a place I'd never heard of where people fought and killed each other.

From that point on, I was down a rabbit hole. Some kids are fascinated with the Titanic, some with the whereabouts of Amelia Earhart, and while I certainly had a Romanov phase too, my fascination was now these families.

Flash forward a (cough cough) number of years, and I'm starting manuscript three in my writing life. As a hint, the Hatfields and McCoys are involved. As I explained the vision to my dad, his brain starting dreaming and planning like mine does: why don't we schedule a father-daughter research trip to the ol' stomping grounds? We were off.

But of course, the best laid plans, right? I found out weeks later I was pregnant and would be seven months along by the time this trip rolled around. Yikes. My excitement was slightly dampened. How would I be up for trekking through the hills of West Virginia like I'd dreamed when I still couldn't hold down my lunch?

But during the course of my preparations for both this trip and this pregnancy, my husband and I had fallen in love with a name from our Hatfield/McCoy research. It was beautiful and unusual and it felt right but we wanted to be sure.

So off Dad and I went to West Virginia. We met with descendants and historians and I was tickled pink that both my dad and our guide were impressed with what I knew and how I held my own amongst decades of dates and names. I had the time of my life envisioning my dad as a little boy and putting places with all the stories he'd told over the years. And you know what? My worry, the fact that I was super pregnant, made it even more special. I envisioned my little girl learning about her own family one day, realizing her parents had lived whole lives before her, the weight of parenthood settling on me in the most precious of ways.

And just as I'd hoped, I received the most perfect confirmation of our baby's name. When we went to her potential namesake's home, the place of both her life and her death, as soon as her name was mentioned, my little one kicked and kicked and kicked. My eyes got wide and I nudged my dad as our guide talked, mouthing, "She's going nuts!" And the moment the subject was changed, she stopped.

So as a children's librarian and young adult writer, I love that her name was first introduced in my life through a frivolous "retelling" of this feud in a middle grade book series. And that then led to a deeper fascination, interest, and love not only for these families I'll never really know, but my own as well. It led to me learning about my father and my family in tangible and lasting ways. And it led to, what I think, is a great story for my little one on how she got her name.

So you're three weeks old today, precious girl. Our Alifair- welcome to a world that's thrilled to have you in it.