Bucklin

“ROBERT BUCKLIN BLACK!!!”

For the first seventeen years of my life hearing those three words meant one thing: I was in trouble. Almost always coming from the mouth of my mother, if she added “JUNIOR!” to the end, I was in deep trouble. Growing up it was literally the only time my middle name was spoken. It is such an odd middle name (so odd a word that the red squiggly line appears under it every time I type it in this post), a family name, and one I was content to keep to myself. While 99% of the kids I knew had middle names that could also be first names (and sometimes were) mine was Bucklin. I was practicing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” long before the Clinton years.

Upon joining the Marines I quickly discovered middle names couldn’t be hidden. It was mandatory on every piece of paperwork filled out, and the second best thing the military excels at is creating paperwork. Word got around and I quickly discovered how many creative versions my fellow Marines could come up. “Bucky Buckskin” was the favorite. I didn’t do myself any favors by outwardly expressing my embarrassment of my middle name. I fed the monster. This was pre- “Own It” days but I didn’t have the confidence to own it anyway.  A favorite prank when eating out with friends was to leave “Buckskin” as the name while waiting to get seated and watch the looks on the surrounding patrons (or the look on mine) when the hostess called out “Party of four for Buckskin!”

After the Marines I buried my middle name. I wrote “B” for my middle name or initial and when people asked (for some reason it is a favorite question of the ladies on dates) I deflected or had the usual volley of–

Date- “What’s your middle name?”

Me-“Bucklin”

Date- “What?”

Me- (sheepishly) “Bucklin……it’s…..a family name.”

Date- “Buckwin?”

Me- “Sure….Buckwin. How’s your blooming onion?”

At my last job my boss found out and took great pleasure in calling me “Robert Bucklin Black”. The first time I smiled and cringed but the more she used it, the more it lost it’s effect. Surprisingly when she stopped using it, I missed it. Robert Bucklin Black. It grew on me.

I could get into the psycho mumbo-jumbo of how I probably subconsciously (or consciously) associated my middle name with being in trouble. Or how a child’s/teen’s desire to not explain a middle name turned into an adult’s embarrassment of his middle name. It’s mumbo-jumbo but it’s probably also true.

So I’m owning it. My middle name is Bucklin. It’s a family name from a previous generation. As I start new adventures and dive into this writing life it seemed appropriate to name this blog after something I once wouldn’t own or didn’t have the confidence to own. No more. I’m taking it back. I’m making it cool. It IS cool.

“Party of four for Buckskin?!”

I’m right here.

Robert Bucklin Black