What's in a name?

I have always resented not being a junior. It wouldn't be so bad if I had a completely different name as my dad, but I don't have a totally different name. No, I have the same name....only 5 little letters longer. Those 5 letters have defined me time and time again. I felt like my name epitomized my relationship with my dad. I was not the son he wanted. I was not good enough to be given his name. Like he wanted me to have it, but then, when he saw me, held me, he saw that I wasn't going to be strong enough to bear his name. So, he made me a little lower. And I have always carrying with me the knowledge that I wasn't able to follow in his steps through my name. My name, which is similar to his, only not.

Flash forward 29 years. Past my wounds of not having him around. Past the resentment that I held toward his new family. Past the confusion and anger I had toward a punk kid that stole my dad's heart. Past the bitterness I carried with me knowing that my dad chose that kid to give his name to. Beyond all that and more to the present.

I now see my dad in a different light. I now see him as a man, a mere broken, confused man. Not the superhero of my dreams. I see him as a man that I am unsure I want to emulate. For while he did chose my half-brother to give his name to, he also abandoned him as he abandoned me. That act among others is why I am proud not to have his name. I don't want to take his identity. No, I am holding out for something better. I am holding out for a stronger man to call dad. A man that doesn't run when it hurts, but a man that runs to me when I hurt.

I am beginning to call God by the name Abba, daddy.