I recently took a writing class—one with a focus on personal narrative for the purpose of writing a memoir. Since I put a lot of work into the assignments, I’ve decided to post (most of) them here.
This is the first such essay. Our prompt was to tell the story of our name. This is what I came up with.
“You named your son after the KKK guy?”
I imagine this might have been a concern for my parents when they chose my name. After all, it had once been a tradition in the South to name boys after the Civil War figure Nathan Bedford Forrest. This wasn’t their intention, but it to have entered their minds.
They simply had no way of knowing that six years after my birth, Tom Hanks’s critically acclaimed film Forrest Gump would assuage their fears. Gone was the future where I’d be associated with a historical white supremacist; in its place was one where I’d hear endless taunts of “Run, Forrest, run!” on the playground.
Because of this, I can’t say that I was fond of my name as a child. Yet, I never wished to be rid of it. Despite the teasing, it was mine. In every video game that allowed me to name my character, I would dutifully use my real name—not out of pride for the name itself, but out of pride for myself.
My name was—and is—who I am. Its uniqueness made it feel special; I was nearly grown before I met anyone else who shared it. But if you’d asked me then about its meaning, I wouldn’t have had an answer.
I’m not sure which of them suggested the name first, but my parents quickly agreed on ‘Forrest’ as they went through their list. They selected my father’s given name, Rickey, as my middle name. As though that weren’t enough, they then plucked ‘Gray’ off an exit sign to Graysville they saw on the drive to the hospital. And so, I became Forrest Rickey Gray Roberts.
As for the meaning behind ‘Forrest,’ my dad has always had an affinity for nature. A flip through our family photo albums reveals as many images of trees, waterfalls, rivers, and lakes as of holiday gatherings or birthdays.
As a kid, I didn’t share my father’s deep love for nature, though I often accompanied him on hikes through national preserves across the state. Hiking was fun, but standing still to absorb the sound of wind rustling leaves, admiring moss-covered bluffs, or watching sunlight dance on a river—that was too much to ask of me.
I remember marching along behind him, struggling to pay attention as he pointed out various plants and trees. While he paused to listen to distant birdcalls, my mind fixated on the stream we’d passed earlier, beckoning me to splash in. I lacked the patience for nature’s subtleties.
As I’ve grown, I’ve developed a newfound appreciation for both my name and the natural world it represents. I used to think ‘Forrest’ was just a unique identifier, but now it feels like a quiet nod to the tranquility I seek in life. I may not be grand or attention-grabbing, but there’s a peace in embracing simplicity—a quality I believe my name subtly conveys.
As I mentioned, it’s not a common name. I recall a friend’s birthday party where I introduced myself, and a stranger claimed she knew me. She recounted a story that didn’t involve me at all—that’s when I realized she was talking about another Forrest. Yes, there’s at least one other in my city. When you share an uncommon name with someone, you learn of their existence sooner rather than later.
It is a good name—one rich with personal meaning and, now, family history. When my son was born, I proudly passed it on to him. I hope he’ll find his own connection to it, just as I have.
© 2024 Copyright — Forrest R. Roberts, All Rights Reserved
