Call Me Glenn

“Bubba says I have to call him Glenn.”  Kenny disclosed during a conversation totally unrelated to what he had just divulged.  Sure that he was kidding, I turned to Stancey who confirmed.

“Where have you been?  I’ve been calling him Glenn all summer!”

I understand that most children go through this phase.  Sam, upon returning from his first day of preschool, asked that we call him Marson, just like the other little boy in his class.  Stancey, during the hype of the Spice Girls in the mid-nineties, told us to call her Baby Spice.  And my Wizard of Oz infatuated niece would only respond to Dorothy for an entire year before returning to her given name of Courtney.  A lot of young children go through this phase.  I know this.

Madison, however, will be starting high school this fall. 

We’ve had a collection of affectionate names for him:  Bubba, Boo Bear, and Maddie.  Even Stancey had a special name for him in early childhood--he was Daimber and she was Buck.  

He couldn’t have chosen one of those? 

Could it be Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from name confusion in early infancy? He was “Baby Boy Thompson” for two days before John and I reconciled on a name.  I’m not convinced about that one. I’m sure other infants have gone way longer without a name and have turned out just fine—just don’t ask me to define just fine.

Maybe it was the birth announcement my mom put in the local paper under the alias Matt Andrew.  (My mom’s way of letting us know she wasn’t real crazy about the name.)  But after fourteen years, we all have become quite fond of Madison’s name, my mom included.  Besides I’m not even sure Madison’s aware of his pseudonym.  It’s hard to have PTSD over an event you’re not even aware happened.

When he was asked who’s Glenn and why his name, he replied “It’s a cool name.”

(I dated a Glenn once.  He had hairy knuckles and he tried to rip the steering wheel off his El Camino when I told him I didn’t want to date him anymore.  Cool is not necessarily an adjective I would use in describing that name.)

Being the seasoned mother that I am, I know I shouldn’t be too concerned with Madison’s sudden distaste for his name.  He’s grown up listening to me explain the methodology related to all their names every time we meet a new dentist, doctor, or just other curious person.  Almost apologetically I’d say, “Well the kids’ names got progressively more normal the more we had.”

I guess it really doesn’t matter what he wants to call himself because odds are I'll call him the wrong name anyway. Max and Kenny, Sam and “Glenn” have all become part of my hodgepodge litany.  Eventually I get all their names right, and in the end, that’s all that really matters.