Instantly, I am overwhelmed with hatred for this boor who bears my name. "It's my name!" I shout at the top of my lungs, in public. I stomp my feet, gnash my teeth; I am ready to battle this 7 year old phony!
And then, my heart opens to this young him or her. A little artist who paints stain glass window designs on cardboard. How proud I am of you, Blaine age 7. You may wear my name.
Perhaps he or she has a little piece of me at age 7. Maybe one day we will become great friends.
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