I've spent a good amount of time in my grandmother's nursing home this week, and my toddler and I have been strolling the halls, time and time again. (He is becoming quite the little social butterfly, and it is quite a task to keep him from barging into the bedrooms of the elderly.)
As we walk up and down these long halls, I have found myself reading the nameplates on the rooms. All of these patients are so very old, and their names are of a different generation: Agnes, Mildred, Dewey, Selwin, Hazel, and the like.
In another 80 years, those nameplates will have a different ring to them: Katie, Ashley, Brittany, Forrest, Hunter, Jackson, Isabella, Harrison, Grayson, Ella, etc.
And our children's children will stroll the halls and think, "Oh, these names are so old. Can you imagine naming your child that??"