My parents "Rob-ed" me at my birth,
And, in its cardboard frame,
My birth certificate makes clear
That "Rob" is my first name.
And only that is why I scream
Until it starts to hurt,
That, nickname though just "Rob" might seem,
MY NAME IS NOT ROB-ERT!
I've no aversion to that name,
In fact, I think it fine.
It's nothing to dislike or blame,
It's just that it's not mine.
I've known 'Roberts' throughout my life,
In fact there's one I Love,*
But still it cuts me like a knife
And hits me like a shove.
That name, from Latin noun robur
Means "heart of oak," and "strong."
Robustus, "fit," comes from the same,
And "mighty"'d not be wrong.
The name I bear, because my folks
Saw fit that name to give,
Means merely "Rob" because, no jokes,
It's the diminuitive.
The U.S. Navy (which I love)*
Gives me the higher title.
It should not hit me like a glove,
I really shouldn't bridle.
It's just, although I asked and balked,
"Robert" Rice, just last year,
Received all credit when I talked,
And will again,