At a recent after-school science exhibit/event, I saw Zander's mom. I know she has a real name and I'm ashamed to say that although her name is forever on the tip of my tongue, I can't ever quite recall it.
This is glaringly unforgivable because I have known her since our preschool days „ our boy's preschool days, that is.
You would think that by third grade I'd know her name, but I don't. The boys did attend different schools until a few months ago, but still, she is an accomplished woman and I truly like her. If only I could remember her name ...
I made a mental note to make sure and say hello (and get her name) before the evening was over.
As Patrick and I floundered about inspecting salmon eggs, walking sticks and several other scientific phenomena, I reviewed the alphabet in my head, trying to recall at least the first few letters of her name. No such luck.
I did manage two adult conversations that resembled more of a list of activities than actual dialogue, and due to the fact that I was preoccupied singing the alphabet song in my head, I didn't manage to memorize any new names.
A young man from Patrick's class insisted that we come and meet his mom. As we navigated our way through the crowd, I promised myself I would remember her name.
Of course, she introduced herself as "Corvus' Mom." I realized that we had met previously, so I had no choice but to forever record her in my mind's memory bank as "Corvus' Mom."
In the adult world, it is easier to fudge if you don't know someone's name; you simply wait for someone to address that person and then immediately use their name in a sentence „ several times if necessary.
Not so at a school event, as everyone is addressed as "Mom" or "Dad" or "Grandma" or "Grandpa" and so on. The only full names I heard that evening were those belonging to a few errant children.
As the evening progressed and all the children's wonderfully innovative invention projects were appropriately ooohhhed and aaahhhed over, the older children broke into small social cliques, leaving we adults to fend for ourselves and practice what few social skills we had left.
It was intimidating being in an entirely new place, surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces, so I was glad when I spotted Zander's mom again. I made my way over to the weighing and measuring table where she was observing her kids convert mass and compare weights.
We exchanged friendly hellos. When she didn't immediately call me by my first name, I was relieved to think that maybe she didn't remember my name either.
After we caught up on major events and compared schedules, she showed me the stunning mood ring she received for Christmas. In response, I gloated that I too had received a ring from my son for Christmas „ the kind that turns green when left in the corner of the tub. We had a few good laughs and said goodbye until next time.
The next day I showed up for my online class. It is odd to hang out in cyberspace where everyone knows everyone's name, but we never see each other. It is equally difficult to keep people's identities straight when there are no faces to put with the names.
I do enjoy taking classes though, as it is a chance to learn new things and keep a few of my neurons firing.
I was excited when the course instructor placed us in virtual groups to work on a collaborative project. No more singing the A-B-Cs for me, for a brief moment in time I was going to be an adult. I clicked on the dialogue box to see my classmate's comments. "Mr. R." wrote in, "Are you Patrick's mom?" (He must have guessed it from my last name.)
I reviewed the alphabet, but I could not remember for sure if I had the right parental name with the right child's name so I took a guess and wrote back, "And you must be Savanna's dad?" (I guessed from his last name.) So much for the grown up world.
After class, I decided run to the store so I could indulge myself in a small single serving pint of ice cream.
While I was perusing the frozen goodie aisle I saw a woman who looked quite familiar. Abby? Angie? Brenda? Carmen? Immediately I headed for the produce aisle.
Later that same week several of my girlfriends dropped by for a visit. One of my pals is a vet. She was deep into a conversation with another friend, um, what's her name, anyway, I couldn't believe it, as they were chatting about the animal world, they were referring to the doggie owners as, "Lu-lu's mommie," and "Sniffer's dad."
I like to imagine all of us old folks, milling about the gymnasium as we attempt to transform it into a grand ballroom for the senior prom. Hopefully, by then, we will all know each other's names. If not, we will have to rely on our kids, because based on what I saw at the science fair, our kids are brilliant. I believe they will not only solve the problem of global warming, they will develop a cure for parental brain failure.
Either that or we will be able to blame our lack of recall on our old age and we will all own little doggies with obnoxious names. And as I see my son dart in and out of the gym, I will call to him, "Hey, Lill-, Tinker-, Jeane-, Jak-, Kris-, Al-, I mean Patrick ..."
Come to think of it, I do that now.
Jacki Michels is a freelance writer. She lives in Soldotna with her husband, "What's His Name," and their youngest son, "Hey, You."
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