Howard Dean Anderson, like most newborns, announced his entrance to the world with a deep-throated, primal scream.

Of course, this was not meant to be his name.

As liberals in conservative families, his parents decided to have some fun at the expense of their relations. The joke quickly turned sour when all four grandparents arrived at the hospital, thin-lipped, quiet, grudgingly smiling, and bearing plastic Wal-Mart bags bulging with baby gifts, including a number of articles painstakingly embroidered with his presumed name or initials. The piece de resistance was a stunning bit of needlework which (they were reminded several times) took his maternal grandmother months to finish.

Regardless of whatever name his parents had meant to bestow on him, after a quick glance of terror at one another and hesitant smiles, they had no choice but to accept the gifts and fill out the birth certificate. In short, Howard Dean Anderson’s life began as a failed joke.

As an adult, Howard suspected little had changed.