I was a blond headed four year old on the verge of getting a partner. I didn’t know how things would change I just had a feeling that they would. I knew that my mornings would not be spent with both mom and dad. I knew that my old furniture was now going to be someone else’s. I noticed new blue clothes, music playing contraptions, and sesame street toys that I was not allowed to touch. Things were about to change. I was getting a partner.

I remember being asked, “What do you want to name your new brother?” The question caught me off guard, but my answer came from my gut, “Larry Bird.”

They didn’t like that idea. So they asked again. I offered four or five different combinations (Larry Jordan? Michael Bird?) based on my two favorite NBA players and one of them stuck. Jordan.

After he was born and I was able to see him for the first time (during his birth I was in the hospital lobby mastering Ms. Pacman) I remember seeing his name taped on the end of his hospital crib. Jordan Lane Shappell. He would be my brother.

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As Taryn and I were discussing baby names (yes, we talk about it.. No, nothing’s coming anytime soon) I googled my own name. As I did I was reminded that Jarrod means “descendent” and that it is of Hebrew origin, etc. And then it happened. Right under the definition it said “see also: Jordan”. I clicked the link.

“Jordan: a descendent. Origin: Hebrew.”

I knew this. I knew that Jordan meant descendent. So how had I not ever made this connection?

When asked what I wanted to name my brother… I gave him my own name. I gave my brother the gift and curse of sharing a name.

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Mackenzie recently posted a link that allows you to find more information about your own name and they have a fascinating chart showing name popularity. Here is the comparison of Jarrod v. Jordan.
Apparently other parent’s were allowing 5 year old Chicago Bulls fans to name their children.