Our book club celebrated our 15th anniversary last week, cake, candles and all. We sang "happy birthday to us...happy birthday dear Lattes, happy birthday to us.”
We are the Read-a-Lattes, (and the Go-a-Lattes, and the Laugh-a-Lattes...)
Like families, sports teams, and other social organizations, we wanted a name. We started with the Bookworms, shortened to the Wormies. But it lacked sophistication, flair—and we groused every time we said it.
Riding around Sunset Beach I noticed the houses have names, too. Most of them play on words. This large yellow house is probably owned by boomers who couldn't resist naming it the Yellow Submarine. Or, it was somebody's favorite song and so they painted the house to match.
Latitude Adjustment certainly describes what time at a beach can do for you.
One group of young women temporarily named their second story condo with a banner hung over the rail. UD...University of...Dubuque? Delaware? Dayton?
It identified them as part of a distinctive group, set apart from the rest of us. They belong, and they're special.
Doesn't that speak to our most basic human needs, to be part of a group who values and affirms you?
That's why you can identify motorcyle clubs, like the Black Tigers MC, roaring down the highway. They travel together and are branded by their jackets.
We don’t wear leather, just once-a-year matching T-shirts. Our brand is our name. We belong, and we’re special.
What name do you claim?