Lovemore (Part 2 of 3)

By the time the revolution came around, the people with the last name of Lovelace wanted to distinguish themselves from the English. They decided to change it to Loveless. I don’t know if they did it out of hate for the English or what, but that’s the way my name came about.
A few generations later, in 1844, a man named John Loveless named one of his sons William Duncan Loveless. William gave one of his sons the same name. This son decided to keep the tradition going by naming one of his sons William Duncan Loveless III. That was my grandpa, who in turn, named my dad William Duncan Loveless IV. [When this story was written in 1989, my son Billy wasn’t born yet, but in 1991, he carried it to yet another generation.]
So here I am with a royal sounding name. But when I was in third grade, the boys my age didn’t think it was royal. They thought it was silly, and they let me know it.
“Hey Lovemore, why don’t you love a little more?”
That was what they yelled, and it really bothered me. I had such pride in my name and heritage and here were people making fun of it.
I felt persecuted. The boys chanted: “Lovemore, Lovemore, Lovemore. Why don’t you love a little more?”
I yelled back to them: “That’s not my name. It should be “Hatemore!” Get away from me, you guys!”
They wouldn’t leave me alone. Walking to school...At recess...During lunch.. .Walking from school...After school...Even at church. It was always with me. The ridicule.