I guess that wouldn’t surprise a “Smith”, “Brown”, or “Black”. Lawver’s not a normal last name. It’s weird. I didn’t think there were many of us out there, because once a name’s been out there for a while, people start to recognize it and don’t mispronounce it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been Kevin Lawyer. I’m sure the other Lawvers can raise their hands in agreement.
I always wanted a normal last name growing up. I wanted my mom’s maiden name: Cookson. There was always a lot of history wrapped up in. There were the stories of the guy who came to New York in the 1600s. We went to see a chest he made in a museum in Utica when I was in high school. Thomas Buell was his name. There was Lord Dalrymple the Earl of Stair who started a war in Ireland because he forgot to relay a message (or something like that). On the Lawver side? Zip. We didn’t even see my dad’s family. There were no great family stories. So, I thought we were alone in the world, a little Lawver Ship floating in a see of giant SmithLiners and BrownTankers.
Back to the present. I’ve been contacted by a Lawver who has a really cool first name (Tone, yeah, really). There are a couple Professor Lawvers. There’s a chiropracter Lawver, a racecar driver. There’s a type of soil called Lawver. There’s weather station in Wyoming called Lawver. There’s a Lawver Post Office in Campbell County, Wyoming. We’re all over the place.
I like seeing that there are more Lawvers than I will ever know. It’s nice to know that on both sides of my family, I go back farther than the eye can see. I can’t explain as eloquently as I’d like, but knowing that I come from a long line of people who lived, worked, did their people things and died long before I existed makes me feel like I’m somebody. I’m standing on a mountain of people who’s essences came together, got distilled, jumbled and mangled to produce me. The farther down the mountain I go, the more people there are. The more lives lived and stories that I have yet to hear.