
My paternal great-grandfather, Michael Tobin, was a first-generation Boxer in New York. Of his four kids, my grandfather was the second oldest. Before him was my great-uncle Michael. Michael was basically my grandpa's father figure, as his actual father wasn't around much. Michael would protect my grandpa from bullies, buy groceries, and do other parental chores that no twelve year old should be required to do. Tragically, Michael was hit by a milk truck while riding his bike to the grocery store, and passed away.
The day I was born, my parents yearned to be original. My dad, his father's junior, was tempted to name me John Francis Tobin III, but he resisted. Instead, he kept the legacy going in his own way. The Gaelic for John is Sean, so why not use Irish roots in the naming of a child? Once the first name was decided, there was no question that I would be named after the tragic Michael Tobin, as well as my mother's uncle and World War II Veteran Michael Farrell, and, somewhat, my great-grandpa Michael Tobin Sr.
Growing up, I came to meet many other Sean's: Sean Yerks, Sean Colligan, Sean O'Donnell, Sean Lavin, and many more. Friends and acquaintances of mine began to call me by my last name, Tobin, in order to avoid confusion. Through middle school, high school, and now college, I feel that I respond more to Tobin than I do my own first name. I don't mind, though. It makes me feel unique.
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