Front Row Seat

by Editor Mike Lesko

Mothers can be pretty remarkable people.

As children, they clean our clothes, prepare our meals, wash our dirty hands -- and sometimes even let us change our names.

My late mother, Bettie Lesko, did all of those things.

As an only child, I was called by my middle name, Peter. This was my mother's idea. It was to simplify things because my father was named Mike. My mom thought having two Mikes in the house would be confusing.

My grandfather was named Michael, too, and there apparently were few problems keeping his identity separate from my dad.

But there were definite problems with me being called Peter.

In school, other kids often referred to me as Peter Rabbit and Peter Cottontail after popular children's tales. Some of them said it mockingly. Looking back now, I'm not sure why it bothered me so much, but it did.

By the time I reached second grade, I had had enough.

I told Mom I didn't want to be called Peter anymore. She listened to me and said I should take some time to think about it because it was a big decision.

"You can't switch back and forth," she said. "If you make the change, you have to stick with it."

I agreed with her. And I told her I wanted to be called Mike.

She said to be patient because the switch was not going to happen overnight.

"People will still call you Peter for a while because that's what they're used to," she said.

Mom explained the situation to my teacher, who was a key person in the process.

I remember the day my teacher announced to the class that I wanted to be called Mike. She urged her students to do so.

Mom was right. It did take a lot of time. Some kids didn't cooperate.

"You can't change your name," one girl angrily told me. "I'm gonna call you Peter because that's your name."

"But I'm not really changing my name," I tried to explain. "My name is Michael Peter, so Mike is really my name anyway."

I remember her frowning and walking away.

I told my mom that story and she said that eventually, other kids wouldn't act like that.

Mom was my biggest supporter. She listened to me -- and soothed my feelings -- as I complained to her about how long it seemed to take.

"Someday, after everyone knows you as Mike, you'll look back and laugh about this," she said.

Mom was right.

As the teacher kept calling me Mike in class, other children did, too. By the time I was a third-grader, I was accepted as Mike.

Today, I'm glad I made that decision at age 7. It was a bold move for a little kid, but I believe Mike is the best name in the world.

I told my wife, Lori, that I wanted to name our son Michael -- after his late grandfather. She eagerly agreed.

Our son is a fourth-generation Michael Lesko.

In our house, it is pretty easy to keep us separate. I am Mike -- and Dad -- and he is Michael.

Fortunately, there are no more Peter problems -- thanks to my mom, who allowed me to make the most important change of my life.

E-mail: mlesko@recordpub.com

Phone: 330-688-0088 ext. 3167

Special to Record Publishing Co.

By the time Editor Mike Lesko, center, was age 8, his problems with the name Peter were mostly behind him. Here, he is shown with his late parents, Mike and Bettie.