A Boy Named Sue... or Natalie

I have heard this question most of my adult life,

How does an Italian guy from New Jersey get a name like "Murray?”

It’s a good question. Here’s the answer:

I am the youngest of three boys. I have two older brothers; one is seven years older than I am, the other is four years older. Whenever girls hear that, they always say the same thing, “You’re the baby of the family! That is so cute!” Yes, getting wedgied, Indian burned and beaten up on a daily basis was adorable...

But hey, that’s a story for another time.

While my mother was pregnant with me, she decided I was going to be a girl. Let me emphasize here that this decision was based on absolutely nothing.
Not a sonogram, not a doctor’s opinion, not even a psychic prediction. She just figured she had two boys, the third baby HAD to be a girl.

Not only did she decide I was going to be a girl, but her and my father went as far as to paint my bedroom pink and buy me dresses and girl’s onesies. They even picked out a name for me, "Natalie Valeriano."

Well, August rolled around and I popped out... a dude. Which, by the way, was the first of many disappointments I would end up being to my parents.

Again, a story for another time.

Now my parents are screwed. They have a baby boy and no name for him. They figured they couldn’t name me the name they picked out, it was a name for a little girl and not a little boy. Personally, I don’t see what difference that makes. Apparently, I was gonna be sleeping in a pink bedroom and wearing dresses for the first two years of my life, how much more emotional damage would be done?

As luck would have it, my mom was reading a book at the time by a guy named Robert Murray McShane. I don’t know if the book was any good, but my mom liked it enough to name me after the author. So there I was, Robert Murray Valeriano.

But wait, why didn’t they call you Robert? You ask.

Well, I was born in Memphis, Tennessee. We didn’t move to New Jersey until I was older. A very southern thing to do is call your child by their middle name.

From day one, I was called Murray. Nobody ever referred to me as Robert. Actually, they didn’t refer to me as Murray either, they referred to me as the little boy in the dress.

But again, that's a story for another time.