My name is Dawson. A bit of a different name‒So it is all my own. 

It gives a rougher, more jagged feeling as opposed to something smooth and round. Like the ocean with crashing waves, it is rough. The waves crash against the rocks and boats in the ocean sending water flying. A rough ocean, a mixture of so many things just like my name. 

My name resembles a rock in the ocean. Starting out jagged and rough, the waves smooth it out over time. A sort of a mishmash of letters forming my name. Once smoothed, these letters form something beautiful. My name. Hard to use letters like a W now smooth and blended into something flavorful. Sweet, like a smoothie on the beach. 

This name I have is precious to me, a gift from my parents that allows me to be their son. A constant reminder of family. Sometimes good or bad, we all know how family goes. 

My parents settled on a name before coming up with Dawson. Originally I was going to be Parker. Why? My parents do not have an answer for me on that one. Just that they enjoyed the name. However, once they said my name, it was chosen.  

No one in my family has ever had a name such as mine. I think my parents use it to remember me. With a different name I would not be the same person. Maybe I would love math, who knows. 

My name sounds like a clock, rhythmic. The ticking of the clock. Feels rough like a tree but grows smoother over time. The sun, wind and rain beat on the bark of the tree. Just like my name it smooths out with time. Not through weather but through me maturing and growing comfortable with it. My name is a first introduction to me, just like how the bark of the tree is an introduction. 

My name is a gift. Once I wanted a different name. Fortunately I have matured from that dumb kid who wanted to change someing precious. Matured into a young man who appreciates seemingly little things like a name. Like a pumpkin in the fall. It starts as a single seed then grows and matures into a beautiful thing.

My name started as an idea, just like the seed. Now that I have grown, my name has changed and matured with me. Like the vine of the pumpkin plant does. Eventually that pumpkin is taken from the vine and gains its own identity away from its home. And I will do the same when I move away. And that identity will be all my own. One I am allowed to create through maturing and changing into what I want to be. 

My name will never change. I like that, it can stay that way forever. Even after life is over I am still Dawson. Maybe someday I will be remembered as Dad or Grandpa, but to everyone else I will forever and always be Dawson.