An agreement. Nothing more, nothing less. My name is an agreement between two people. It carries no meaning, no representation of some greater something. My mom wanted John and my dad wanted who knows what. Either way, they were both stubborn and they couldn’t decide on one good one, so they went with one that they could tolerate. Not something great. Just something tolerable. Neither of them liked it, but they didn’t mind saying it. Zachary. Zach. No matter how you say it, it doesn’t roll off the tongue very well. It reeks with boring. Zach may have been me when I was little and playing with Legos, but once I got past 7 years old and “Zach Attack” wasn’t cool anymore, the name really didn’t fit with me. It was really just, tolerable. If they could have gone with something that stood out and had some character it would have fit me. I have always wanted a name like Walter or Rudolph. Both are ugly names, but when you meet someone named Rudolph, you don’t forget them. I want that to be me. I want to be Rudolph. Rudy for short and Rudolpherson for long. A name with character would fit with me, but Zach can go right out the window. So, nice to meet you, my name is Zach, tolerable and meaningless, but you can call me Rudy.