Back in 1927, when my father was born in the bedroom of his parent’s modest home in Bristol, TX, he was given the name Ted. In this oft-told legendary tale, Granny Stilwell recalled the moment she delivered her 3rd son. She mentioned Theodore as a name, and definitely remembered telling the doctor in attendance she wanted the baby boy’s middle name to be Waylon. Unfortunately, the name that followed my father throughout his rich life was, in fact, not Theodore Waylon, but the hastily etched physician hen scratch Ted W. Yep, he didn’t even get a middle name, only an initial. He went on to have 2 sons before the age of 24. So, he used Waylon for one of their middle names, right? Wrong. In fact, my half sibs share rhyming middle names: Randy Ray & Sandy K. See what he did there? The lone initial lives on. There was a sister in the mix, but tragically, Nickie Gayle died of SIDS before she would see her first month in this world. When my parents married and my mother convinced her older husband that he did, indeed, wish to be a father one more time, I was named after my mother’s favorite 50’s era socialite turned actress, Dina Merrill, star of such movies as Operation Petticoat & Butterfield 8. Yet, somehow, when it came to middle names, my dad decided that if rhyming was good enough for his sons, it would be good enough for his daughters. That is how I became (deep sigh + eye roll) Dina Dale. Yes, like a double entendre nightmare, it rhymed both with sweet Nickie’s middle name and our last name, Stilwell. As if that isn’t shameful enough, I dated not one but TWO boys in high school whose middle names were also Dale. My friends had middle names like Marie, Kay, Lynn, and Michelle. Meanwhile, Dale here was commonly asked if it was for Dale Evans or, like, the farmer in the [dell]. Life is cruel.
