"I hope that you know my name is actually not just 'Mom,'" I told my son as he stared up at me with big blue eyes.
"But...it's what I call you," he replied slowly, trying to work out how I could possible be called something else.
"And you always should call me that, but other people call me by a different name."
"What name is that?"
"Deborah."
"How'd you get that name?" He asked, still clearly unsure how I could be called something other than 'Mom.'
"Same way you got yours, honey, my mom gave it to me." I had never much liked the name Deborah and I went through a phase when I was an angsty teen where I requested to be called 'Rah.' I thought it was a very cool nickname that represented all the swirling emotions that I thought I was displaying in an ever so rebelliously unique manner. Over the years I got more used to it.
"But that man called you Deb," my son said, clearly not having learned about nicknames yet. When do you even teach your kid that thing? When had she learned it?
"Well sometimes people shorten other people's names. So Deb is short for Deborah."
"Why?"
I had never much thought about it. "I suppose either because the person likes the sound of it better or because it's a way to show that you know someone well and care for them."
"Oh so since Dave is your friend, he calls you Deb?"
Oh right, I hadn't told him who that man was. This whole conversation had started because we had gone to a new park. Why did I think that was a good idea again? Because my son had heard from his babysitter that the park in her neighborhood had a jungle gym shaped like a boat and my son thought that was just the coolest thing in the world. And so we had ended up in a park I didn't know. If I had bothered to look it up a bit, I would have seen it was close to where the guy worked. But I hadn't and so the guy came up to me while I sat on a bench enjoying my chai latte and said, "Fancy seeing you here, Deb," just as my son came running back after a triumphant jump off the swings.
My son had then asked me who or what Deb was and I found myself in the position to introduce my son to the guy, whom I called 'my friend Dave.' My son, as innocent as ever, just looked up into Dave's blue eyes with his own and said, "Hi, Mom's friend Dave."
Dave smiled back and then looked at me, unsure of what to say. He made some excuse about having to go, but handed me his business card and told me to call him saying that we needed to talk. After he'd left my son asked again what Deb was and that's how I found myself here.
"Yes, sweetheart. Dave is my friend, so he calls me Deb."
"Why haven't I met Dave before?"
"Well," I sighed, "because Dave is an old friend and we haven't seen each other in a while."
"None of your other friends call you Deb."
"They also don't call me Mom," I said, smirking. Although, they must have called me something in front of my son. I guess maybe not so much that he'd notice. How often did we actually say people's names when we talked to them? And when they talked to my son about me, they probably just called me 'your mom.' I wondered how long it had been until I knew my mom's name was Roberta. Probably longer than I thought.
My son, unaware of my internal musings, giggled. "Cause you're not their mom, right?"
"Right. I'm only your mom."
"Good," he said triumphantly. "Can I go back and play on the boat now?" He clearly wasn't thinking as much about the meaning of names as I was.
"Of course. But in a little bit we're going to go get lunch, okay?"
"Okay," he said before taking off at full speed to the jungle gym.
I looked down at Dave's card, still in my hand. What I couldn't bring myself to tell my son yet was that, had I told that man I had been pregnant years ago, he wouldn't call him 'Mom's friend Dave,' he'd call him 'Dad.'
(Prompt sent by Katie Durr)
"But...it's what I call you," he replied slowly, trying to work out how I could possible be called something else.
"And you always should call me that, but other people call me by a different name."
"What name is that?"
"Deborah."
"How'd you get that name?" He asked, still clearly unsure how I could be called something other than 'Mom.'
"Same way you got yours, honey, my mom gave it to me." I had never much liked the name Deborah and I went through a phase when I was an angsty teen where I requested to be called 'Rah.' I thought it was a very cool nickname that represented all the swirling emotions that I thought I was displaying in an ever so rebelliously unique manner. Over the years I got more used to it.
"But that man called you Deb," my son said, clearly not having learned about nicknames yet. When do you even teach your kid that thing? When had she learned it?
"Well sometimes people shorten other people's names. So Deb is short for Deborah."
"Why?"
I had never much thought about it. "I suppose either because the person likes the sound of it better or because it's a way to show that you know someone well and care for them."
"Oh so since Dave is your friend, he calls you Deb?"
Oh right, I hadn't told him who that man was. This whole conversation had started because we had gone to a new park. Why did I think that was a good idea again? Because my son had heard from his babysitter that the park in her neighborhood had a jungle gym shaped like a boat and my son thought that was just the coolest thing in the world. And so we had ended up in a park I didn't know. If I had bothered to look it up a bit, I would have seen it was close to where the guy worked. But I hadn't and so the guy came up to me while I sat on a bench enjoying my chai latte and said, "Fancy seeing you here, Deb," just as my son came running back after a triumphant jump off the swings.
My son had then asked me who or what Deb was and I found myself in the position to introduce my son to the guy, whom I called 'my friend Dave.' My son, as innocent as ever, just looked up into Dave's blue eyes with his own and said, "Hi, Mom's friend Dave."
Dave smiled back and then looked at me, unsure of what to say. He made some excuse about having to go, but handed me his business card and told me to call him saying that we needed to talk. After he'd left my son asked again what Deb was and that's how I found myself here.
"Yes, sweetheart. Dave is my friend, so he calls me Deb."
"Why haven't I met Dave before?"
"Well," I sighed, "because Dave is an old friend and we haven't seen each other in a while."
"None of your other friends call you Deb."
"They also don't call me Mom," I said, smirking. Although, they must have called me something in front of my son. I guess maybe not so much that he'd notice. How often did we actually say people's names when we talked to them? And when they talked to my son about me, they probably just called me 'your mom.' I wondered how long it had been until I knew my mom's name was Roberta. Probably longer than I thought.
My son, unaware of my internal musings, giggled. "Cause you're not their mom, right?"
"Right. I'm only your mom."
"Good," he said triumphantly. "Can I go back and play on the boat now?" He clearly wasn't thinking as much about the meaning of names as I was.
"Of course. But in a little bit we're going to go get lunch, okay?"
"Okay," he said before taking off at full speed to the jungle gym.
I looked down at Dave's card, still in my hand. What I couldn't bring myself to tell my son yet was that, had I told that man I had been pregnant years ago, he wouldn't call him 'Mom's friend Dave,' he'd call him 'Dad.'
(Prompt sent by Katie Durr)
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