My name is derived from the Old Testament, and in Hebrew, it means 'gift from God'. I am the protector of the people. One that must keep everyone safe, while I must sacrifice myself. It is like the number 23. Something very successful. A repeated legacy. It is something strong, like an ox. Never having the ability to give up on something it loves. 

It is surrounded by greats. This Michael sang “Billie Jean”, and was a part of the Jackson Five. Another famous Michael is someone that wore bright red for many years, the number twenty-three, dunked a lot. This other Michael won several gold medals in swimming. 

My name represents power. The vibrancy of the color red shines through the darkness of the sunset. It is like listening to Jack Johnson. Calm, flowing with energy, high on life. It is the sunshine that provides the endless golden warmth onto your face, your muscles relaxing. It is a smile that breaks loose from your lips. You are free to think, without having the stress of other things in your life. It is like traveling without any direction, just letting the winds and the wheels take you, becoming a free spirit. 

It is the wind that blows on a warm and sunny beach off the coast of Maine, softly kissing your cheeks, flying through your hair. It is a summer breeze that provides new life to the world. It is like going to practice baseball with my father on a warm spring day in my town park. It is seeing your family after a long time and embracing each other with big hugs. It is like the feeling you get after an act of kindness. 

Growing up, I have always been religious. My family and I used to go to church every Sunday. Now it seems that we are only going on certain holidays. But, my sister is getting married in the Church. 

This is why I still wear my pendant. The pendant that has St. Michael’s sacred face plastered onto the fine silver. The ridges of the face are folding over themselves from years of wear and tear. Every day I still feel connected. I have someone looking over me; someone that will protect me if things go south. 

When people see my name, they tend to shorten it to Mike. I hate being called Mike. It drives me crazy, down to the depths of darkness and solitude. Being called my full name gives me power and makes me feel respected. When it is shortened to Mike, it is almost like being called bud or buddy. You feel inferior. 

Mike is like an alligator during a feeding frenzy. They rip and pull and thrash their bodies all around, turning their prey into ragdolls. It is the color of blue holiday lights, so bright that they hurt your eyes to look at and make your vision blurry. 

At the end of the day though, it is just a name. A name does not define who I am or what I will become, but it does help me shape myself. 

It helps me to become a better human being and propels me to create my own destiny. It makes me want to become the next famous Michael in this long legacy. It makes me work harder every day to find new ways to push myself. I am not only doing this for myself but for the next generation of Michaels’. I want everyone named Michael to let the wake of the ocean take them and guide them toward salvation.