My father told me that during the war, when he joined the Merchant Marines, he had to present a birth certificate as proof of identification. He sent home for his baptismal certificate and when it came he learned that he was Donald Angus, not Fred, Macdonald.

He was also detained for a moment because of it until his identity was verified, which at the time was easier to do than today. (Today, I suspect he would have been sent to Syria for further interrogation.)

When Dad was born, his aunt Catherine (and our great aunt Catherine, the source of many stories…) was home and even though Dad was an infant she was convinced that he looked just like her boyfriend-du-jour, a guy called Freddie, and she began calling him that and it just stuck. Nobody ever thought to tell him different.

February 4, 2006