The courthouse will be quiet at midday. Parole hearings will be done for this week,
custody hearings will be starting tomorrow.
Today, the most Wednesday of days, will be the quietest day of the week
at this particular courthouse, which is why you selected it to change your
name.
You always felt your momma made a mistake when she named
you. Not because of who she named you
for: your uncle was a good man, if a bit slow, with a good heart and a good
head on his shoulders. And not because
your name was particularly terrible.
Some folk have been called it and gone on to live full lives with decent
careers. Ain’t like she named you
La-Sha, with a pronounced dash. Ain’t
like she named you LeBranshun or something.
No, she named you for her great granddad, who ran rum back in the
bootlegger days and never lost his distrust for the government, who himself was
named for a suicidally brave British soldier who saved his own grandfather’s
life during the Crimean War.
But it isn’t you. Not
really. It makes you feel dumb, and
going by “Clay” for short doesn’t make you feel any better.
So today you’re going to present your paperwork to the judge
and, following a brief hearing, she’ll smile, nod and approve your request without
a wink or a laugh. She’ll understand exactly why you’re following this path,
and she’ll wish you the best as she approves your paperwork.
Welcome to society, Lando Baum. We’re excited to get to meet you.
Congratulations Clayton!
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