Speeches, secret ballots, Jeremy tallying votes...drumroll please...
But first, the nominees.
Index cards cover the long plank table end to end—neon green, hot pink, sunshine yellow, orange—each one a
candidate in this GRAND election. Somebody writes Grumpy in cursive letters. Somebody else offers G-Pa, Jampaw goes up, Grandaddy, Ralph, PJ, Buck, Pappy, Pops. The
cards are laid out like a
game of memory, but there are no matches.
The speeches start. Wesley stands up, hand pressed dramatically to his chest like he's about to deliver a wedding toast, and makes his case for why this decision is so important. The decision is not up to Lenah, apparently. With all the aunts and uncles and future grandchildren in mind, choosing the name is not about what the first grandchild comes up with in her baby talk; it's about a new identity.
Jeremy would no longer be dad. He will forever be known by the grandfather name he has for the rest of his life and for generations to come.
Anyone can speak up and share why they picked the name they wrote down - like they're selling it to the crowd. Some opinions get loud, and a few just watch, sipping their water bottle while letting the discussion happen around them. Somebody across the table narrows their eyes at a card and says, "Who wrote Ralph?" and we share more stories, and everybody laughs.
Then, the secret ballots - everyone writes down their top three on scraps of paper, folds them like it's a jury verdict, and hands them across the table to Jeremy.
The vote is just for his name. My name is easy to choose. All the fond memories of my Mamaw and the sweet relationship we had makes it easy for me - I want to be called Mamaw. When Omar and Savannah shared the news and told us Lenah's due date, April 8th, the date my Mamaw went to be with Jesus, there was no discussion, no argument, no deliberation. I would be called Mamaw.
Jeremy, however, didn't have his name sured up. Ideas came up, different names were tried on for size, but nothing seemed to be the one. And as Lenah's due date approached, the opinions and feelings started increasing.
Jeremy sits at the corner of the table with a clipboard, one Omar uses for work that says OPERATIONS FOREMAN across the clip, like the title makes it more official for Jeremy to oversee this election. He is
taking it seriously. Somebody leans over his shoulder to
watch him write, and he angles the clipboard away like he's protecting a secret family recipe.
PJ. Jam Jam. Buck. Jammie. Gram Jam. Jampaw.
Grandpa. Pappy. Pops. G-Pa. Granddaddy.
Tally marks stack up next to each one, little rows of hash marks, and every few seconds somebody calls out "What's Buck at now?" and Jeremy just holds up a hand — not yet, not yet — pencil still moving, adding all the marks on grandfatherhood in front of an audience.
The room quiets down as Jeremy finishes the last tally. The cards get gathered and rearranged as votes settle in, sorted now into two neat rows leading the pack. Five names are in a tie. Runners-up are moved to the center of the table.
DRUMROLL......please....
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