A few years ago, I went to visit an old friend that I had known in my early twenties. When I'd met her, she was newly married. By the time our reunion rolled around, she had two kids. She told me about when she was expecting her second child... another boy. She and her husband didn't want their older son to feel left out, so they told him that he could help pick out the new baby's name ( with some help from Mommy and Daddy, of course).
"Let's call him Steven," the four-year-old said.
"Steven! That's a nice name!" They were pleased that their son showed such good taste, and they made him very happy by adopting his suggestion. His younger brother was named Steven.
Now, fast forward a few years... Mommy walks into the living room and finds little Steven in tears.
"What's the matter, Steven?"
"Robby said I was named after Steve Urkel."
"No, of course you weren't named after Steve Urkel," said Mommy, looking over at Robby who was laughing hysterically. Old Robby, at the tender age of four, sure knew how to pull the wool over Mommy and Daddy's eyes. Talk about the ultimate trump card in the game of sibling rivalry. :)



