I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream.
Ah, child of countless trees, ah, child of boundless seas.
What you are, and what you’re meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me,
Born to me, Cassidy.
Way back in the 80s, when I wasn’t 100% sure I wasn’t going to have a kid, listening to this Grateful Dead song always made think that if I did have one, Cassidy would be a good name. I mean, it’s fabulously androgynous. And there’s something so earthy and mysterious about this song—even though I can’t claim to understand it, the words manage to create paintings and short films in my head that I really like. So that wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be named after, would it? Born to me, Cassidy.
But then, suddenly, the name got really popular. Which meant that I would never use it.
Turns out I didn’t need to worry about all that, given my ultimate blissful child-free status (blow the horn and tap the tambourine!).
Still, I love the song, and I love its benediction: Fare thee well now, let your life proceed by its own design.