An identity crisis isn’t as awful as you might think.
Joanna and I are experiencing one right now. It’s because of our grandson, but we don’t blame him a bit.
Ezra just turned 2, and he’s trying to get his tongue around names.
That’s not entirely accurate. He’s trying to learn how to pronounce all kinds of words, to greater and lesser degrees of success. But the words that seem to count the most are names.
Actually, Ezra’s pronunciation is a form of entertainment and occasional consternation. Sometimes, Jo and I get it. And sometimes, we need translation help from his mama and our daughter, Lindsay, or his daddy, Aaron.
When we were together during Christmas, we learned “T” is a sufficient name for “train.” At the time, his little wooden train was his favorite toy, and we heard “T” a bunch.
We haven’t discovered two of the most important words he’ll ever speak—his “grandparent names” for Jo and me.
When we drove down to their house to celebrate his birthday in January, he kept referring to “we-tar.” We came to understand he means “Wii cars,” a video racing game, his new favorite pastime.
The other evening, Joanna and I talked with Ezra and Lindsay on my computer. (By the way, video-talking is the greatest invention in the history of grandparenting. For a few moments, you can erase the miles.) We learned Ezra had been discussing “we-we-bus” ever since I stopped by the previous week. That would be the time he and I sang “The Wheels on the Bus” over and over. And over.
Like lint on Velcro
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Well, you probably don’t care all that much about Ezra’s complete lexicon. At his age, new words stick to his little brain like lint on Velcro, and his vocabulary expands every day.
Still, we haven’t discovered two of the most important words he’ll ever speak—his “grandparent names” for Jo and me. (Coincidentally, I read an article on the Internet that claimed baby boomers are absolutely the worst generation when it comes to their grandparent names. Apparently, all the traditional names aren’t good enough; we want to choose what our grandchildren call us. Even grandparenting is all about us.)
Most of my life, I wanted to be called Popo when I became a granddad. That’s what we called my maternal grandfather. Although Popo is a unique moniker, don’t mistake him for a designer-name baby boomer. He was born in 1906 and either farmed or worked for the railroad his whole life. Popo is just what came out when Dana, my oldest cousin, called him. She called our grandmother Grammar, and both names stuck.
Popo was one of a kind
Popo loved me unconditionally, and I felt the same way about him. And since I wanted to be the kind of fun, funny, loving, all-the-time-in-the-world, soft-touch grandfather he was to me, I figured I’d adopt his name.
But about the time Ezra came around, I realized Popo was one of a kind. I never could be him, and I’d be just fine with another granddad name.
Although we didn’t realize we were falling into the designer-name baby boomer trap, Jo and I chose the names we hope to be called. She picked Jody, the name her mama called her when she was a little girl. And I selected Marvo, which is what Jo and the girls have called me from time to time, ever since they gave me a birthday card about Marvo the Fly.
Well, Ezra’s not up to Jody and Marvo just yet. Not quite, anyway.
Marvo’s here
When I arrived at his house one afternoon just as he was waking up from his nap, his mama told him, “Marvo’s here,” and he immediately began calling out: “Dog! Dog! Dog!”
That’s been his collective name for Jo and me for a couple of months. When we come to visit, he’s mostly enamored with our dog, Topanga. And, believe me, he’s months away from saying, “Topanga.”
That evening, I sat next to Ezra in the backseat of the car, talking to Lindsay and Aaron, and I said something about Jo. “Dog!” Ezra shouted. “Dog!”
His powers of association are strong.
Bathtime
Later, he and I played with puzzles and toy cars, and Ezra wasn’t thrilled about going upstairs to take a bath. He walked around the living room, saying: “Ar. Ar. Ar.”
I thought he wanted to watch the Backyardigans video of our favorite song, “A Pirate Says, ‘Arrr’!” Intuitively, Lindsay asked, “Ezra, do you want Marvo to give you a bath?” He made a beeline for the stairs, and we killed 20 delightful minutes with him splashing in the tub.
The next morning, as I left for a meeting, I hugged the little guy and told him I love him. Later, Lindsay sent me a text: “He’s definitely trying to say your name: ‘Bye bye, Ar’ and ‘Ar dog.’”
The next time we talked on the laptop, I asked Ezra if he could say, “Jody.”
“D!” he shouted.
So, we don’t know exactly who we’ll be when Ezra grows up. He may call us Jody and Marvo someday. Or maybe he’ll settle on D and Ar.
We don’t really care what he calls us.
Just as long as he calls us.
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