his name will be called...

The Indians often didn't name their children until the child did something to inspire a worthy name. This is how my dad David got his.
When our daughter Callie was born, we knew Dad would not have a regular name like grandpa, Pee-paw, or gramps.
One night, before going to bed Dad looked out one more time to make sure all was well outside before turning in. A flicker of red emanated from the barn. Then it stopped. Then, there it was again. On, off, on off. There was only one explanation. Some lowlife was hot wiring the old Jeep CJ5 out in the barn. Quickly he rustled through a drawer and found the bullets for his pistol. Fast but quiet as a cat, he pressed against the shop, then to the barn, moving sideways, pistol gripped by two sweaty hands, pointing skyward, Starsky and Hutch style.
(At this point of the story, Dad claims to have dropped and rolled, coming up with the culprit in his sights, trigger cocked. True or not, that makes for a great visual).
Expecting to find a cowering carjacker, he instead saw our blue Catahoula hound, Big Boy on the floorboard looking up with a sleepy dog smile, wagging his limb like tail. And pressing the brake pedal.

So Grandpa+Rambo= Grambo.