There once was a boy named Flibbertigibbet. No, his parents most certainly did not give him that name when he was born. That would have been cruel, and they were really quite nice people. They actually named him Filbert. Yes, they named him after a nut. They were nice people, but they were also silly people who often didn't think things through.

One day, when Filbert was about a year old, his mother was bouncing him on her knee when, mid-dandle, he smiled and said "Momma!" Oh, his mother was overjoyed that not only had Filbert said his first word but that word had been "Momma." She called her husband over and Filbert looked right at him and said "Dadda!" Amazing! They began pointing at him and repeating "Filbert!, Filbert!" to get him to say his own name. After a while, Filbert creased his brow as though concentrating ever so seriously, and then said "Flibbertigibbet!"

Their jaws dropped. How could a boy so young know such a word? Ah, therein lies a tale. Unbeknownst to his parents, Filbert's maternal grandmother had been secretly whispering "You're my little Flibbertigibbet" in her grandson's ear over and over since the day he was born. By the time he was a year old, the boy didn't know many things, but there was one thing he knew with unshakeable conviction: His name was Flibbertigibbet!