Crock’s Thoughts

So, where did my name came from? Well, let me tell you a short little tale wrapped in a bratwurst, served with a side of sauerkraut.

My first name, Brian, has no exotic origin story. No saint, no medieval knight, no ancient Celtic chieftain. Just my parents looking at me and thinking, “Yep, he looks like a Brian.”

Honestly, I should be thankful. I could’ve been a Chad, or a Dwayne, or—heaven forbid—Moonbeam, if they’d leaned too far into their hippie phase that November day in the early ’70s.

But the last name… well, there’s a little history there.

My last name is Crock—hence the name of my blog. It’s short, solid, vaguely kitchen-appliance sounding, and typically used in vain, as in, “What a crock!” It’s German in origin, though it wasn’t always spelled that way.

Back in the old country, it was spelled Krack. Yes, you read that right. My great-great-I-lost-count-how-many-greats grandfather looked at that spelling, looked at English speakers trying to say it, and thought, “This is not going to go well at Ellis Island.”

So, in a bold act of family branding, he changed it. Not to protect family honor, not for style, not even to sound fancier, but simply so people would pronounce it correctly.

And thus, “Krack” became “Crock.” Still distinctly German-sounding, still proud, but less likely to spark giggles during homeroom attendance.

So, if you ever wondered why my last name looks like a pot you’d slow-cook chili in, now you know. It’s the product of one ancestor’s war against English pronunciations. And honestly, I think he’d be proud. Because at the end of the day, there are worse legacies to leave your descendants than the ability to introduce yourself without people thinking your talking about a plumber’s ass crack.