Several bloggers (TBogg; Sadly, No; World O’Crap; Needles on the Beach), with good reason, have had much fun at the expense of Megan Cox Gurdon, one of National Review’s lame stable of columnists, their mirth arising in part, though, I assure you, in de minimus part (there’s much else with which to work), because Gurdon has named her son Paris, a fate such bloggers would have you believe has resigned and consigned this child to the unspeakably horrible fate that goes by the name of “homosexuality.”

This is ignorant and offensive, all the more disheartening since much of such smirking has come from bloggers I normally respect and admire.

Perhaps it’s a “geographic” or an “ethnocentric” thing. Perhaps these bloggers are unaware that “Paris,” or more often, “Parris,” while not a common Christian name, is far from unheard of, at least in the southeastern United States, running, for immediate purposes, from Maryland south to Georgia. (See, for example, former Maryland Gov. Parris Glendenning [D].)

As for the suggestion that the young man’s name, together with his parentally mandated, or at least familiarly conventional, I assume, use of the term “Mummy,” amusing and regrettable as it is, forever renders the boy to the social and cultural damnation of homosexuality, well, for that, even I have no words whatsoever.