Ken and I had jokingly discussed what we would name a little boy if we ever had one.  We had already had three little girls--and neither of us cared what the next baby would be.  Our third daughter had unexpectedly died, and whatever God sent us would be a blessing.  We had plenty of little girl names picked out since it seemed like we produced girls.  But if it was a boy, I told Ken, "We should name him after your father and my father."  Which was a joke, because my dad's name was Elmer Melvin, and his Dad's name was Edgar Rufus.  Putting that together, we laughingly called him Elmer Rufus the entire time I was pregnant.

However, we couldn't agree on a real name.  I wanted him (if it was a boy) to be named Kenneth Scott.  After his own father.  Ken said, "No.  My brother named his boy Kenneth.  My sister named her boy Kenneth.  Counting me there are too many Kenneths in this family.  David Scott it a good name."  I just nodded.    We did agree on one thing--that we would call him Scott.  

When I gave birth, it was a boy.  So I filled out the papers, thinking that Ken would never see them anyway, and named him Kenneth Scott.  (Yes, I know.  Not a very submissive wife.)  But as God would have it, Ken came home early--which he never did--and brought in the mail the day the official birth certificate came--which he opened.  

"There must be some mistake," he told me.  "They got this boy's name wrong on his birth certificate.  And since I know my sweet little wife couldn't possibly have any thing to do with this, and nobody seems to agree on what his name is, I'm going to call him Sam.  Which he did.   From that day on.  Sam.  Everyone else called him Scott, Scoot, Scooter, Scottie.   Except for Ken.  Ken called him Sam.

Years later, when Scott (Kenneth Scott) had a son, someone asked what the baby's name was.  "He's named after me," Scott told them.  "His name is Sam."  

And Becky named her son David Scott.  Ken got what he wanted in the end.