Growing up, I knew my last name was long and French and that there was only one person who could tell me what it meant. My grandfather (my pepere), a very quiet and devoutly religious man, was also a poet. I'd ask him what my last name meant, and he always replied quietly and with a sparkle in his eye, "Dizzy Bird." And that's how he left it. The third-grader in me thought it was hilarious. He passed away when I was 13 years old, and to this day, a little more than 20 years later I realize I never received a different response from him. Rather than researching the meaning of my name, which I realize I can do anytime, I'm rolling with it and naming my business after his cheekiness.