A.K.? WTF. Why Not Arthur?

A.K.? What? Why Not Arthur?

Some people get named after saints, presidents, or grandparents. Me? I got named after an argument.

My dad was old-school. His name was Arthur Keen, and as his only son, he figured the name would roll straight down the line. My mom wanted no part of it. She didn’t want an Art, an Artie, or a Junior running around her house.

So picture this: delivery room, June heat, my mom glaring at my dad after hours of labor. “We are NOT naming him that.” Maybe it didn’t happen that way, but I can see it clear as day — and honestly, I like to think it did.

Enter Aunt Elaine. Every family’s got a wild card, and she was ours. The kind of aunt who’d stick her tongue out at you just to get a laugh. In the middle of the standoff, she pipes up: “Why don’t you just call him A.K.?” Just like that, the argument was over. Mom won. Dad won. And I got saddled with two letters that would stick for life.

Growing up, those letters were their own adventure. Teachers squinted at roll call. Kids twisted them into every name they could think of. “Egghead” (still the worst). “Ok, AK” (still gets a laugh). And of course, the gun reference — AK-47 — which follows me to this day.

But after a while, A.K. wasn’t a nickname. It was me.

When I introduce myself now, people give me that curious look, like, “Did I hear that right?” That’s when I pull out one of my go-to lines:

• “My parents were just ahead of their time. They knew everything would get shortened into letters — LOL, JK, LMAO… and then me.”

• “Or maybe I was dropped on my head and couldn’t spell my full name.”

• “Or maybe Arthur Kenneth was just too long, so A.K. stuck.”

Whatever the real reason, Arthur Kenneth became A.K. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it. It’s different. It starts conversations. It makes people remember me — and in this business, that’s never a bad thing.

So when you meet me, call me Arthur if you want to keep it formal. But most people just go with A.K. — and I kind of like it that way.