Like a preteen girl, I was up all night wondering what name I would give to my future son. I’m sure my wife would be the romantic one, saying things like, “What about a Native American name meaning good child?” And my response would be, “No, honey. I will not name my son Huhuewahehle.”

The first thing I would do is decide on his last name. Yes, a bit unusual, but while I’ve always enjoyed my last name and have often worked it to my advantage, I’m worried my son will be a wimp, and emotionally collapse from a lifetime association with a farm animal. I’m leaning towards a last name so iconic in American culture, like Simpson or Soprano, that upon hearing it, the only logical response is, “That is so awesome it leaks awesome juice.”

As for his first name, I’m reminded that Shiloh Jolie-Pitt has begun the trend of naming children after fictional household pets, and that is something I’m very eager to embrace. Maybe Beethoven?

And finally, for good measure, I’ll throw in a middle initial too, because that would make him one of the very few Asians who have one. The dignity connoted by it should get him so many chicks, he orders chicken feed by the bulk.

I got it. My son’s name shall be Garfield W. Jetson.