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My dad’s name is Kenneth. Kenneth Champagne. He lives—with my mom—down in Orange County. In Garden Grove. Pretty close to a city called Stanton.
I just read a story in the on-line O.C. Register about a twenty-nine-year-old man named Kenneth Champagne who was sentenced to five years in prison for shooting at a police officer. In Garden Grove. Maybe three minutes from where I grew up. If ya want, read about it.
The felon’s middle name is Sean. My dad’s middle name isn’t. But still.
Now: Not only is it weird to see your dad’s name in the paper like that (or the name of a guy who happens to share your dad’s name), but it’s also weird to see your own name in the paper like that. Especially connected with a crime like that. Since his name is my name. Champagne. You’re reading this story about some gun-toting, do-nothing piece of shit pushing thirty in Garden Grove, loitering in the parking lot of a hookah bar (classy) and thinking it’d be a great idea to flash a gun and shoot at people to better make his point—and you can’t decide how you feel: is it funny to see the name Champagne connected to some bad shit like that? Or is it kinda scary?
I’d never make it as a criminal. I’m too fearful. I’ve outgrown David Mamet, but one of the best observations in Glengarry is when one guy basically says to another guy: “Of course you get nervous around cops! You know who doesn’t get nervous around cops? Thieves.”
In the Register article, I read passages like: “Champagne waved a handgun out the window” and “Champagne was sentenced to three years…” And you get an odd taste of how it would look—using some imagination—if you had done something fucked-up and illegal like carry a gun and wave it at people and got caught. It’s not you, but it is your name. I don’t personally know any guys named Champagne who aren’t in my family. (Thanks to Google and Facebook, I happen to know there are many Matt Champagnes.)
What if I had never gone away to college? What if I had made no effort whatsoever to leave Garden Grove? What if I had never moved away? We all think about the paths we didn’t take. Again: I don’t think I could ever be a criminal; I was raised too well. And the name Champagne doesn’t make you think of crime right away. But obviously some guy named Champagne decided he was gonna be a piece of shit for possibly the rest of his life. Then I think about the old friends from grade school who used to know me and haven’t heard of or from me in a long time. Say they’re skimming the paper (not reading it completely, just skimming) and they land on the middle of the story rather than the beginning, missing the part where it says the guy’s first name is Kenneth. So all they see is a story about a guy named Champagne shooting at a cop in Garden Grove. How many of the people who used to know me thought that might’ve been me? Or a guy related to me? They must’ve thought: “How many unrelated Champagnes could there be in that area? It’s gotta be a relative. Or maybe it is Matt! Man, what happened to him? Looks like he took a different path!”
It’s silly of course. That's not my dad in that article. Or me. I would never drive a 1995 F250 pick-up truck. Everyone would ask me to help them move.
I remain
Champagne
11:53 PM
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