What’s In A Name?
Plenty. When I was a born sixty-some odd years ago, my parents named me Caryn Jane. But the only time I was actually addresses as Caryn Jane were the times I’d gotten into trouble; as in “Caryn Jane, come in here and explain why there is Silly Putty all over my new hand towel” (Easy – I washed it and needed something to dry it on.) But on those occasions when I was in within my mother’s favor, I was dubbed “sweetheart”. And it suited me, most of the time. When we went out and I behaved, I was sweetheart to the servers. I was “sweetheart” to shopkeepers, my parents’ friends, strangers who were kind enough to speak to this short freckle-faced, slightly chubby little girl.
And then I grew up; so much so that one day, standing in the checkout line at the local supermarket, I heard a voice talking to “m”am”. Who could that possibly be? Me. I was now old enough to be “m’am”.
Yesterday I jumped into a whole new realm. Seating myself at a Perkin’s Family Restaurant I was addressed as Sweetie. And there it was – the circle was complete. And I decided that, instead of allowing myself to feel old I would take sweetie to the old level. After all, I do have freckles and I still am short. Now, where is the Silly Putty?