As the sensibly named Colin Kosmicki grows up in Brighton, N.Y., he won’t have to routinely, despondently spell out his first name to baristas or anyone else requesting clarification at counters. He won’t have to worry about filling any charity quotas before approaching the Pearly Gates, because he sealed the deal a full decade before he’ll sniff a tax benefit. He won’t have to suffer through puberty wondering if any girls would possibly notice more than his Hostess-infused obliques, outsized head and general unease.
Telling by last December’s glowing photos of Colin Kosmicki in his hometown Rochester Democrat and Chronicle newspaper—along with other media coverage highlighting his charitable giving as a clothing-drive organizer at the astonishing age of 8—I’m sure he’ll also have a full head of hair when he grows up and an authentic smile that doesn’t give away his endless, bitter resentment.
I ran across the name of this new, hot shot Colin Kosmicki while searching Google for a prior Free Lance story I’d written so I could re-use some of the background information in an updated news article. Incidentally, it was a display of journalistic laziness the more refined Colin Kosmicki likely wouldn’t exhibit, even at 8 or 9.
Expecting Google’s algorithms to spit back my most relevant Free Lance stories as usual, this varsity version of the name surreptitiously forced its way onto my priority list in news stories about the boy’s early-bird activism. There had never been the Irish “Colin” or “Collin” attached to the rare Polish last name of “Kosmicki” published anywhere before now—at least in my Bizarro World—so this Google discovery was groundbreaking and about as jarring as a bob for apples in an electrified tub.
Forget about running across another Kollin attached with Kosmicki because it took a fleeting surge of disoriented, hospital-room judgment to elect a first name with such lacking commonality or meaning. It was the result of my mother’s simple, aimless strategy to start three siblings’ names using the same letter—K—while forming a triumvirate of dysfunctional, white siblings and leaving our collective reputations open for a literal interpretation as the KKK Brothers.
Whoops.
That’s Kory, Kyle and Kollin, to clarify, and it was actually supposed to end at the KK Brothers—which sounds like either a specialty coffee brand or steel company—until I arrived as a surprise and an early 50th birthday present for my dad.
After Kory and Kyle, reasonable choices, came Kollin. If my parents absolutely had to stay on the K kick for no apparent reason, what about Kevin, Kurt, Kirk, Keith or Karl? Because I’d be a pretty cool Karl and I’m pretty sure Kurt Kosmicki would end up being the nicest guy around, or possibly the weirdest. But Kollin? Not Colin? The latter would have at least earned me bonus relevance points later in life with the emergence of actor Colin Farrell and quarterback Colin Kaepernick.
Like any other name, Colin has had its rises and falls with celebrities who share the spoken or written identity, but Kollin almost doesn’t exist. At least that’s the case in the world of overpriced, miniature memorabilia that draws a hard line in the culture of vanity between accepted and outcast.
Do you know what it’s like to go through your life knowing you’ll probably never run across one of those tiny license plates in a gift shop with your actual name on it? Sometimes as a kid I’d spin those rotating name displays and imagine that someday the makers of the license plates might think to spell one of those Colin plates my way.
Not likely, and especially not now with this New Colin on the Block and others like him trumpeting their fashionable identity.
Anointed with the proper spelling of his first name—and about a quarter of my age—Colin Kosmicki’s legend grew while reading further into the stories.
He had the goodwill and motivation to found a massive clothing drive for Rochester’s Open Door Mission and did it for three consecutive winters. He was named one of five national finalists in what’s called the “Kindest Kid Contest” and all of those children appeared on the Today show for the winner’s announcement.
Are you serious? Colin Kosmicki was one of the kindest kids in the nation, and he made his debut on NBC’s Today show?
I’ve never received so much as a participation award for goodness—though one time at around age 8 my late father bought me a bag of full-sized Snickers candy bars as a present for not cursing too much—and spent every morning during the most depressing year of my adult life watching that televised attempt at subliminal psychiatry known as the Today show.
My only TV appearance was on the much less dignifying Nancy Grace in 2012. I was one of those local reporters on a remote phone line talking about a mysterious murder case—after a producer tried telling me exactly what to say before the taping—and sounded like every other blustering idiot on those shows.
Nearly three years later, this new-and-improved version of my identity made a bigger, more meaningful splash and successfully staked his claim to my name while doing it.
His excellence didn’t stop at kindness as he soaked up media attention with grace and a calm cool I wouldn’t dare to project, even now at age 35.
Rochester sports columnist Leo Roth asked the star youth hockey goalie if all the attention was overwhelming. The other Colin’s answer blew me away and took me back to my first boy-girl party in sixth grade when I dejectedly watched others dance to Bryan Adams’ Everything I Do—the only slow song in the host’s collection—on repeat.
“No,” he answered, “I usually get it by the girls.”
After reading that, I simply conceded. He was in another league of Colin Kosmicki I couldn’t fathom. Moving on, I took comfort knowing I still had the spelling of my first name, and nobody outside of the insane or lobotomized would steal that.
