I was at a company function a few days ago. A pair at the gathering approached excitedly to tell me they had walked across Reykjavik. There, they purchased and brought back a sweater, which was now being worn by one of the two. They were excited to show me because they had been told I was from Iceland.

Somehow there has been discussion of where I’m from, where Iceland was the answer. I’m reasonably certain it’s the unique order of consonants and vowels that constitute my full name. My name has apparently been going around without me.

I’m Wisconsin born, but I’m from Minnesota. The origin story of how I got my name, which includes the European Theatre of World War II, but does not include Iceland, is far more dramatic than the tale of where I’m from. I’m happy to tell you where I’m from. And I’m happy to tell the story of my name, which began decades before my birth.

The tale of how they got the sweater is a good one to tell. It was a really nice sweater. And now, they can add color, about the guy who was, disappointingly, not from the same place.