Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Name of the Game
So Bub has started calling me by my first name. This is weird on many levels. It cuts me pretty deep, actually. All this work, all this sacrifice, and you just refer to me like your poker buddy or co-worker? Get it straight, Bub. We’re neither poker buddies nor co-workers. I work for you, yet I’m your boss. It’s complicated. But the name remains the same. And that name is Daddy, damnit.
I’m not gonna lie, it was a minor relief when I finally realized what he was saying. For the first week or so, I thought he was calling me Trash. It made sense. He knows what trash is, he knows who I am. Wait…No, I’d like to think it was an honest mistake. I’d like to, but I don’t. Truly, nothing says holly jolly household like coming from work to have your son point at you and yell, “Trash!” Oh, I’m kidding, of course. I don’t have a job.
He obviously got this nasty little habit from my wife. She insists on calling me by my name, despite my pleadings for her to refer to me as Daddy (it’s been an ongoing source of tension in our relationship over the years). So the only logical defense I have is to teach him her name. See how she likes that one.
Actually, my wife loves nothing better than the sound of her own name. She loves the way it fills the airspace and dances around her eardrums. In fact, the only thing she likes more than hearing her name spoken is hearing her name yelled in a deep canyon. Falling asleep to her name on a one-track CD on repeat.
She always complains I don’t call her by her name enough. Don’t take it personal, Wifey. I rarely call anybody by their Christian name. I don’t know why. It’s probably some sort of deep-rooted psychological detachment/intimacy issue. It’s not you, it’s me. At least I don’t call you Trash.
The only part that reeks of deliberate on his part is that he has no other titular problems—Mommy, Nana, Bubbe, Boompah, even Doctor, for shit’s sake. Yeah, I said "titular."
If this keeps up, I may just return the favor, start calling him by his real name. Ah, probably not, though. Let’s be honest. Let's not get too personal, Bub.