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Parenting
When Your Child’s Name Is a Bar Anthem
by Jamie Parker
Updated: Sep. 30, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 22, 2015
As I drive along, a familiar tune fills the airwaves. “Make it stop!” my 9-year-old pleads. “I can’t stand this song.” “Olivia,” I respond with a laugh. “It’s your song!” I belt out the classic refrain from Neil Diamond: “Sweet Olivia, good times never seemed so good.” She shakes her head vehemently from the backseat, buckled in at 35 miles per hour, with no escape in sight. I refuse to change the station.
It was more than ten years ago, shortly after 9/11, when my parents, partner, and I attended a Neil Diamond concert. We were craving the comfort of familiar tunes. There were those ’70s hits from my childhood days of blue jeans, and the ’80s anthem “America” that echoed in the air. “Jamie!” my dad shouted, giving me a high-five as Diamond sang “Sweet Caroline.” Surrounded by 20,000 people clapping, singing, and swaying, I felt pure joy.
But just two weeks later, my hero, my dad, was diagnosed with brain tumors due to melanoma. A heavy sadness settled over us. The only thing I could do to offer him hope was to ask a former coworker to get him a signed letter from President Bush. An overnight letter arrived just in time for his surgery. George and Laura Bush graciously wished my dad, a sales manager from Ohio, luck in his fight. “He’s a good man, isn’t he, Jamie?” my dad asked with a smile after I read him the letter. No, Dad, you’re the good man, I thought. This isn’t right. Make it stop.
He passed away six months later in a stark hospital room. I initially chalked up my fatigue to grief until I discovered I was pregnant the whole time I sat at my dad’s bedside. I pulled out the infant car seat and “Goodnight Moon” from my son’s room. The pregnancy offered me a pause, a moment to wipe away the tears that had been flowing endlessly. How could I fit a baby into my world of sorrow?
Nausea interrupted my memories: Dad taking me to my first Broadway show, telling me that the sprayed saliva from the actor singing “Old Man River” was a badge of honor, and that Christmas Eve when he cranked up “Midnight Train to Georgia” in our Chevy. He should be here, enjoying his loves: family, friends, music, and Cleveland sports.
When the baby arrived a month earlier than expected, we hadn’t chosen a name yet. As tests were being run, she lay there nameless. We wanted a name that honored my dad, but “Gordon” just wouldn’t work, and “Cleveland-Teams-Who-Haven’t-Won-Any-Championships-Since-I’ve-Been-Alive” was simply too long.
Eventually, I cradled my tiny five-pound miracle. As I held her, the lyrics “how can I hurt when I’m holding you?” played in my mind in yet another stark hospital room—this one, however, filled with bright flowers. In that moment, I felt my dad’s high-five; the name was “Olivia,” inspired by the last happy memory we shared.
As a young child, she would sing along. If she heard the song in a store, she’d declare, “I came down from heaven as Papa was going up!” But somewhere along the way—maybe when I wrote to Neil Diamond and he kindly sent back an 8 x 10 photo, making her the only 3-year-old with a signed Neil Diamond picture next to Elmo in her room—she decided she no longer wanted to hear that song.
Now at this awkward age between tween and the car radio, I can sense an existential crisis brewing. Here’s what I want to tell her: Apparently, after that concert, some fans found out Neil Diamond’s fan club was full. No biggie. I didn’t need to join anyway—totally not me who got rejected or anything.
You will hear this song at a bar someday. The echoing “SO GOOD, SO GOOD” will create an odd bond with other patrons, just like the words “SALT” and “PEPPER” in a Jimmy Buffett tune. I can’t believe you tried to sell Neil Diamond’s greatest hits at our garage sale.
I wish you could’ve known Papa, sweetie. You have his love for music and his vibrant spirit. But there we are, her hands covering her ears as the song blares in the car. I don’t share my thoughts; instead, I glance at her in the rearview mirror and recognize her need for distance. I smile at my little girl, who is now searching for Selena Gomez on her iPod, and I whisper to myself: Was in the spring, and spring became a summer, who’d have believed you’d come along?