Mito's Name

In a previous post, I referred to my then unborn son as “Ira”, which should have been short for Israel. Well, obviously, that flew out the window. I can’t pinpoint exactly when we decided to drop that name – I guess we were never really sold on it anyway. I just liked it at first because it sounded close enough to Ayla, my favorite name and the name I would have given my baby if it turned out to be a girl.

We went through a long list of names before we finally decided on what to give our baby. I remember Joaquin, Markus, Benjamin. I remember several sheets of post-its and a few pages of my organizer filled with names and their meanings. I remember nights when, over the dinner table or right before sleeping, I would present the names to Moks and we would discuss which ones to drop immediately, and which ones to set aside for later consideration. I remember fights when Moks would veto a name I liked, and he would say that it is his right as the father to name the baby, and I would cry. We had a particularly nasty fight when he suggested naming the baby Briasir, or something else monster-like, and I was just so frustrated at him - and him at me – that we just stopped talking for the rest of the day. In my head, I was seething at how stubborn he is, and I rehearsed angry lines to say to him – accusations about how he didn’t love the baby, because if he did, why the heck would he give him a name that he will hate forever?! And then I would go online again and I would spend a few more hours browsing new baby names websites. Oh, it was a long and painful process for me.

Then one afternoon, we were eating and I was just going through the alphabet, conjuring up names – basically, just thinking out loud, as I so often do – and then I said, “Miro.” Moks suddenly looked up from his plate, eyes interested, and said, “Mito, yeah, Mito.”

I didn’t immediately agree to that name, but then Moks never really bothered to solicit my agreement. It was evident in him when he said the name Mito and he realized that it’s the Filipino word for myths, legends, stories. He loved it, and its meaning. He knew he found his son’s name, and he knew that I would just have to accept it.

Which I did, eventually.

Now, looking at my baby, at his chinky eyes that look so much like my father’s, I can’t help but think that his name is really perfect for him. And I love it. I love Mito.