What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?
My middle name is Loia, and for most of my life, it was a mystery.
It’s funny this WordPress prompt comes up today… because I’ve spent decades carrying that name without really knowing why.
I always knew it was rare. I knew it sounded different. But beyond that, it was just this odd, beautiful word that sat between my first and last name like a secret I didn’t yet understand.
What I did know was that it was also my step great-grandfather’s middle name.
He wasn’t related to me by blood at all. He was my great-grandmother’s second husband, and they never had any children together.
On paper, he and I weren’t really connected at all. But life doesn’t always follow paper.
He was always around as I was growing up. He loved me and helped raise me like I was his own. He was an extraordinary man, steady and present, and he stayed in my life until he passed away in the mid-90s.
That middle name tied us together, even if I didn’t know where it came from. I just knew I shared something with him, and that felt important—even if I couldn’t put it into words.
When I started my blog back in November, I chose Loia as my pen name. I wasn’t even sure why I did it at the time.
It just felt right… like the name was waiting for that moment.
Maybe it reminded me of him. Or maybe the name had just been sitting there all along.
Either way… I typed it into the author field. And it just felt right.
Recently, I started digging into it… really digging.
I wanted to know what I’d been carrying all these years.
I found out that Loia was my step great-grandfather’s mother’s maiden name.
She was an Italian immigrant, and she gave that name to her son as his middle name… so he would carry it with him—to keep her lineage from being forgotten.
That’s when it really hit me.
She didn’t want her name, her people, her story to disappear into the dust of time.
So she planted it in her child’s name like a seed.
And now, somehow, I carry it too.
I’m not Italian at all, at least not by blood. Yet here I am, bearing the same name she fought to preserve.
Somehow.. I became part of what she started… long before I was even born.
And somehow I’m the one who ended up running with it.
I traced Loia back to its Latin origin and into the early Roman Empire.
I followed it as far back as the 12th century, to the Loia family in the southern Italian peninsula, in places like Campania. There may even be some Sicilian roots branching off that same line.
I read stories about relatives from those eras, names.. dates.. fragments of lives, and it was fascinating.
It felt like finding my name written in a story that started centuries before me… even though none of them are my blood.
Apparently it’s a rare surname.
Old as dirt…
the kind of name that has seen things.
I could have kept tracing it back even further, but at some point.. I decided to stop.
I knew enough.
I had already learned more than I ever expected to… and the mystery started feeling like it belonged to me.
Growing up, I pronounced it “Loy” like “Joy,” because that’s how I was told by my mother to say it.
Only recently did I learn that the Italian way is more like “LOH-yah.”
It’s interesting hearing the same name two different ways—one from my childhood, the other from Italy.
And then there’s this other detail that feels too poetic to ignore…
My girlfriend is also an Italian/Sicilian immigrant and an American citizen.
The way we met, the timing, the circumstances around it—it all carries this almost storybook quality.
“Coincidence” doesn’t quite feel like the right word anymore.
I don’t know how to explain it fully.
It just feels like there’s a hand at work in my life right now… quietly lining things up.
This old, rare name. The man who loved me like his own. The Italian mother who didn’t want her lineage forgotten. My choice of pen name. My girlfriend’s story.
All these crooked lines seem to be converging in ways I couldn’t have planned if I tried.
So what is my middle name, and what is its meaning or significance?
My middle name is Loia.
It’s the name of a man who helped raise me, the name of an Italian woman who refused to let her family disappear, a name that has survived centuries, continents, and bloodlines to land here, in my life, on my byline.
It reminds me that family isn’t always about blood… and that sometimes the things we carry our whole lives… finally make sense.
“It’s not what you got… it’s what you give. It aint the life you choose… it’s the life you live.”
If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?
So there are so many historical figures I’d love to meet.. I’ve already met Jesus — I know Him personally.. better than I know anyone else — so let’s scratch Him off the list…
George Washington is one that fascinates me.. Most people don’t know the hidden pieces of his story.. It was like he couldn’t be killed in battle — as if something.. or someone.. was watching over him.. I believe that someone was my friend Jesus..
Native warriors supposedly had a name for him that meant “the man who couldn’t be killed by a bullet.” Maybe that part became legend over time… but the testimonies are wild.. After the 1755 Battle of the Monongahela.. one unnamed warrior said..
“Washington was never born to be killed by a bullet! I had seventeen fair fires at him… and.. after all.. could not bring him to the ground.”
And there were more stories like that — one after another — people watching him walk through battles untouched..
But as interesting as all that is… I think I’d rather meet my own family members — the ones who lived and died long before I was born..
About five years ago.. I started digging into my family history.. and there are so many I wish I could sit down with.. Some of my great-great grandparents had incredible stories.. One grandmother even had the same birthday as me.. Another ancestor lived a remarkable life.. I’d love to hear in his own voice.. and one grandmother died just before I was born — she was excited to meet me.. but she never got her chance..
I have famous relatives too — Richard Nixon.. William Penn.. John Penn — and ancestors who came over on the Mayflower.. I even discovered relatives who were directly involved in the Salem Witch Trials..
So yeah… as great as the heroes of history are.. I think the people I’d most want to meet are the ones whose blood runs through my veins… the ones who helped shape my story before I ever breathed..