lanceness

Ask any Tom, Dick or Harry and they will tell you about the conventions. Gatherings of large numbers of people who share the same first name. They’ve been going on for generations, these conventions. The John get-together being held at a small stadium.

The Ambrose affair? Not so much.

Recently I not only attended my first Lance function, but was asked to speak to the gathered Lances.

The gentleman before me gave the crowd a quick history of the name Lance. Apparently it’s an Old French name from the Germanic Lanzo, meaning “land” or “territory.” Historically it has been used for individuals associated with land ownership or a strong connection to their homeland, and later gained association with knights and warriors wielding lances (from the Latin lancea) in medieval times.

He ended by raising his arm in the air in a very phallic way and the other Lances roared their approval.

A tough Lance to follow.

I decided to tell a story that I feel sums up my lanceness.

“I was invited to the Jersey shore for a bit of frolicking in the surf and I wanted to make a memorable impression on my fellow bathers, so I had a custom pair of flippers made for me.

Typically the typical flipper, typically mind you, is about two feet long. Mine were forty. And four feet across if they were an inch.”

Lances a hundred strong leaned forward as one as I made this revelation. I paused for effect. A small smile stole across my lips.

“I had to drag each into the water separately before finally slipping them on. I slowly backed up until the chilly water was deep enough for me to sit. I inhaled deeply and then gave the first flipper a quick flip…

and found myself more than a mile out to sea.

I couldn’t even see the shoreline. I could only image the reaction of the folks who had witnessed it.”

I heard the sea of Lances in front of me gasp as one.

“A couple more kicks and I was clearly out in the shipping lanes. It was a nice day with a light breeze, the sun shining down brightly, so I decided to continue on and in less than five minutes I found myself arriving on the shores of Saint-Martin-de-Ré, a fishing village on the Ile de Ré in France.”

A small murmur of disbelief swept through the assembled Lances.

I found myself at a crossroad. I could try and provide additional details that would lend credibility to my story or I could trust that everyone currently in attendance would take me at my word.

In the end I did exactly what you think any self-respecting Lance would have done in my place; I raised my arm in the air in a very phallic way… and the other Lances roared their approval.

While every story doesn’t need a moral, at the very least every Lance should have a point.

“The past is water running in a stream. It is already long gone and you can never bring it back.”

― Giles Kristian, Lancelot