My name means Little King. Its old Irish from a king called Rian. The number 42. A rigid and sharp name. It means someone who loves the outdoors. The color green.

Green. It’s the color of nature. The scent of a forest. Pine needles and flowers. I have always been one to be in the outdoors. Whether it's camping with the boy scouts or going for runs. I remember as a little kid I never wanted to come inside. At least until my parents called me in repeatedly. Even though I was a little king I always listened.

My name came from careful deliberation from my parents. Was I to be named Zach? How about Kyle? No, it was to be Ryan. First, in a line of many named Anthony. As far back as my great grandparents. This name signifies something new. Like a sapling coming from the wet dirt.

At home, my family might call me Rydog. Or in trivia games. Like in Buffalo Wild Wings a few years ago. I never liked it. It sounded unnatural. Like human and animal combined. It was an ugly nickname but it stuck. I had no say against it.

In the end, I would like to keep my name. I am used to everybody calling it. Turning whenever the name Ryan is sounded. It's just like tall grass blowing in the wind.  I will always be an outdoor loving little king.