As is often the case for Miles and me, what began as a simple conversation this morning about Ninja Turtles quickly became a deep discussion about aging, time, and prospective descendants.
Miles, fascinated by the thought of me as a child, wondered where he was in 1988, a period I was describing as the time I (and the rest of the country) was discovering the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I explained that he hadn’t been born yet (this is the answer to approximately 50% of his questions), then he wondered if I (me, daddy) would ever be a child again. I laughed and told him that simply wasn’t how it worked.
After a moment, Miles declared that he wanted to have his own child. I said sure, he could have a child one day if that’s what he wanted to do
“What can I name him?” was, naturally, the next question.
I started tossing out a few options. Chewbacca. Luke Skywalker. Darth Vader. All of them were met with the following respective replies: “No,” “NO,” and “Daddy! Stop talking about Star Wars!”
So I asked Miles, “Well you tell me then! What do you want to name your son?”
The thought about it for a second, then said, “Another Miles.”
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 