Miles's blog

I went to a movie yesterday which included a young couple with a small baby.  The child’s name?  Miles.   Before the movie started they showed a commercial for a new tv series called “Revolution.”  The hero’s name?  Miles. Susan read an article about Nicholas Sparks the other day, which included a reference to his son.  His name?  Miles.  I was at the bank the other day and when I gave her my check to the teller to deposit she informed me that her baby’s name was—you guessed it—Myles.  What is up with all these Mileses (Myleses)?

My entire life I enjoyed having an uncommon name.  It was sufficiently out of the ordinary that I have met very few others with the same name, but not off the wall like Apple Martin or Blanket Jackson or Satchel Allen.  “Miles.”  It is simple, straightforward, somewhat traditional, but enough different that I never have to call people and say “Hi, this is Miles Madorin.”  Just the first name is enough.

I have only met a handful of other people named Miles.  I can’t imagine having a friend with the same name.  I always thought it was tough for Mark Pautler and Mark Randall having to work together for so long with people always getting them confused.  Poor Meg had to put up with numerous other Megans (spelled in a myriad of incomprehensible ways like “Meaghan”) in school.  And I am dating a Susan, while my brother (Mark) has been married to one for 40 years.  My mother’s name was Janice, which is also Susan’s mother’s name.  I am so glad my name was unique enough that I never met a woman who had to say “my last boyfriend’s name was Miles, so I can’t go out with you.”

Mark Randall used to joke that there were two people in the prosecution community that he could refer to by only our first names without having to tell people who he was talking about—me and Tamar.  (This got so bad that one day when he was pretty frazzled at the legislature he called me to ask Tamar’s last name.  Regrettably, I could not remember it.  Please do not tell her.)  I enjoyed this individuality. 

When I was a kid, of course, I hated being different.  Many a night I wished my mother had named me Matt or Mike.  (I never wished to be named Frank or Bob.  I like the initials M.M.  This led, of course, to my daughter being named Megan, thanks to a very understanding mother.)  I have heard all the jokes.  People routinely call me “Kilometers” then laugh as if they were the first ones to think of that.   If that is the best you got, keep your mouth shut.  When I was a kid someone would occasionally call me “Millie” or “Millies” and that led to more than one fight.  My aunt would sometimes call me “Milo” a nickname I despised then and still do.  If you think you are cute and call me that, be prepared to defend yourself.  People who feel they are kings of irony, and being well-aware of my personality, have on occasion called me "Smiles."  I have never felt the need to speak to them again.

The use of the name Miles in movies, however, is not completely unprecedented.  In a failed 1984 movie called “Electric Dreams” the lead character is named Miles.  The movie is basically a love triangle between Miles, a woman he is pursing, and a computer, also attracted to the same woman.  Miles is not a very winning character.  One of the funny bits of the movie is that when Miles first logs onto the computer (and remember this is 1984 before home computers were terribly popular and were still somewhat intimidating) he mistyped his name as “Moles” and the rest of the movie the computer calls him by that moniker.  That is why to this day Noel still calls me “Moles,” which helps explain why I had the initial reaction to him that I did.  (If you don’t know that story, ask anyone.)

I have no idea how this current crop of Mileses  spell our name.  I do not endorse spelling the name with a “y.”  It seems to add some sort of old world pretension.  I have always liked to be able to say to people on the phone (especially those in India who answer when I call the cable company), that my name is “Miles, just like the distance.”  However, I still allow those with the improper spelling into the Miles Club.  Up to now it was somewhat of an exclusive group, but I fear it will become overrun.

I never really learned why my parents chose to pull the name Miles out of the dusty pages of English history. There were no family members with my name,  it was certainly not traditional in our community, and, although it did provide the alliteration they sought, Miles does not go particularly well with Madorin.  One-syllable names like Mark, Mike or Matt sounds far superior. 

At one point my dad told me they were going to call me Matt, but my mother changed her mind at the last minute.  He did not remember why.  It is entirely possible she never told him why.  I got a hint, though, when I was in my 20s.  I was reading the newspaper feature “Today in History” for my birthday when I saw this notation:  “1621– Miles Standish is appointed as first commander of Plymouth colony.”  I can imagine my mother sitting in her hospital bed wondering what to call this blubbering blob with an already too-large nose and deciding that Matt was just not going to fit, so she seized upon a hero from history with a name none of her friend’s kids would have.  She probably hoped that giving me an uncommon name would lead me to be an uncommon person, possessed of all the strength, leadership, and charisma of Miles Standish.  Oh well.  I like the name, anyway.  I am just glad I wasn’t born on St. Swithun’s Day.