What’s His Name?

Like the Prime Minister and Governor General I am delighted at the news of the royal birth. My first born was a son and I saw in him my father and myself. Becoming a parent is a shift. Concern for self becomes concern for family. What wouldn’t we do for our children?

I was reading some of the news coverage of the birth and was interested in the celebrations. There will be a 62 gun salute outside the Tower of London to mark the arrival. I couldn’t help but think of the thousands who died protecting the monarchy with a “one gun salute.” Those individuals don’t sell papers they merely gave their lives so we could have Freedom of the Press.

I was comforted to learn that all other parents and children who share the same birthday as the royal child will receive a commemorative penny in a pink or blue pouch. Isn’t that the royal way? Everyone else receives pennies while the royal pouch overflows with jewels.

I have no resentment to an innocent child but I don’t recognize his blood as any different. To my way of thinking each generation weakens this so called royal blood. If someone is indeed different; royal, each child they have is only half royal. This blood we pledge to, defend and pay for is only a slight fraction of whatever significance royal blood had in the beginning. If I lay with a poet my child does not burp a limerick.

I am on the edge of my seat waiting to learn this child’s name. I haven’t a clue if Dick sounds more royal than Don but with all the fuss what choice is there outside of Jesus?

You can honour or pledge to “what’s his name” or you can do the same for the guy with the scars on His hands. He can’t wave and he may not have even been handsome but He was important not for the blood in His veins but for the drops that touched the earth.

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