Say My Name

Now that Boy Wonder has reached the ripe old age of eight, his third-grade teacher has proposed to call him “Tim,” rather than the more childish “Timmy.” It’s all very well-intentioned and an effort to help Boy Wonder feel (and hopefully, act) more grown-up. Trouble is, the Boy does not have an ounce of self-importance in him, so calling him an adult's name is unlikely to make him feel older or change his behavior.   And although I was willing for his teacher to give it a try, it's probably best for this kind of change to be initiated by the individual whose name it is, rather than imposed by another person.  This morning—his first day of school—Boy Wonder saw the "Tim" labels on his locker and desk and promptly set the situation straight.   “I prefer to be called Timmy," he politely told his teacher in his high, clear voice. 

It made me glad that Boy Wonder can defend himself so diplomatically and effectively. And if truth be told, I'm with Boy Wonder on this one, because I'm not ready to relinquish this vestige of his childhood, either.  What's in a name, anyway?

That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title.

At any rate, I'm hoping for at least one more year of Timmy.