When I was little–six or seven-ish–my dad took me to play at a local park near my grandparents’ house. As a child, I was your basic tomboy and loved hanging out with the guys. Of course, my real name was a bit unusual, and at times, other children mispronounced my name or poked fun at the strangeness of it. That day was one such time. The boys and I had fun until I told one my name. He immediately found it humorous to chant that it wasn’t a real name, and his friends joined him in teasing me.
I had always thought my name was beautiful and unique, but that one moment ruined any fondness I had for my name. Until someone shouted, “Hey! I think your name is pretty.”
A boy with short blond hair had climbed onto one of the fixtures and stood like a prince, glaring at the other boys. This seemed to scare the guys, as their mouths seemed to sew shut, and they disappeared.
I swiped at the tears and smiled at the remaining boy. He looked at me for a moment then said, “I really do like your name.”
It was a small compliment, and though I doubt he remembers it to this day, his courage to stand up for a stranger made it the best I have ever received.
The Sacred Fox 
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