What's In A Name? In This Case, Everything

For the first six months of my employment at the Ogemaw County Herald, this column was called "Thoughts at Small."

Call it that no more.

"Thoughts at Small" is dead. Long live "The Gift of Gaba."

The new title of this column is, of course, a play on my last name ... and my ability to talk up a storm.

The old title was a play on the phrase "thoughts at large," which a couple thousand readers did not quite comprehend. (A common problem with the kind of humor that lives in my slightly deranged left-wing brain.)

More on that later. Right now, back to the new column name. On more than one occasion, I have been reminded that my last name sure lives up to my ability to gab.

Oh, well. That's the price I have to pay for being the way I am. It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out the correlation between "Gaba" and "gab." At least, not from a linguistic standpoint.

This moniker was most recently suggested by my Grandma Sally - also a Gaba - who lives in a suburb of Fort Lauderdale. She thought it would be a pretty original, cute and funny title for the column.

Well, she was right - at least, in the "cute" and "funny" arena, I suppose. My mom loved the idea. My sister loved the idea. Even my managing editor thought it was a pretty good idea, proving that, gee, maybe I had something good here.

But it is hardly original.

What these four people have in common, if they didn't know before, is that it brings to about 750 the number of people who have told me, during the last 12 years of so, that I have this gift. The Gift of Gaba.

Like I said, you don't have to be a rocket scientist. Spend 10 seconds with me and it will be obvious that I'll never win any awards for being shy and reserved.

"The Gift of Gaba" is a new name for this column. But The Gift has been with me for years.

I can remember it clearly being around as far back as 1979, when I was a violinist in high school. Like most young musicians, I hated to practice.

In orchestra, my conductor, Mrs. Palmieri, would often turn to me and, in her even-toned, calm manner, ask me to KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT! To this, the rest of the class would invariably being to laugh.

Herb Isaac, our top cellist, was another excessive talker. He could sympathize with my plight, although having The Gift of Isaac seemed biblical, rather than vocal. After Mrs. P. would get through with her five-minute tirade, Herbie would turn to me and say, "I talk just as much as you, Paul, but I never get chewed out. It must be The Gift of Gaba."

Hmmm.

Having The Gift of Gaba is especially helpful each week when it comes to putting down the words that fill this column space on the opinion page.

And the replacement of "Thoughts at Small" now means you don't need to be a rocket scientist to understand the play on words that hovers over this rambling, left-wing lunacy each week.

Thank my grandma if you happen to be in the Fort Lauderdale area. She's easy to find ... just look for an older lady gabbing endlessly about her grandson, the writer.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.