But I am no longer me. I haven’t been allowed to be myself for quite some time now. It just didn’t hit me until recently.
I am now Dad. Or her Dad. Or his Dad. But most definitely Dad. Now don’t get me wrong. That’s a wonderful thing, but as far as having my own identity. That ship sailed years ago. When you have children, bless their hearts, you give up everything you were and are.
If friends of my son or daughter are over it’s “Jackson’s Dad, can we…” or “Caroline’s Dad, she won’t…” Despite my repeated pleas to be addressed as Mr. Glenn the voices continue to call out for someone’s Dad.
I do still have my last name, but it’s mostly used in formal situations. “Mr. Carver, can you please make an appointment…” I do like that because it gives me the warm illusion of respect, but I know it’s really just the right thing for businesses, schools and such places to say.
I admit I find myself using the Mom and Dad monikers, “Honey, what did Connor’s Dad say about…” Maybe it’s hard to keep up with first names because we meet so many people over the course of our lives. I doubt it, but who knows. Soccer or basketball games often result in “Hey, Jackson’s Dad.” “Hey, Bradley’s Dad.” “Hey, this is Danny’s Mother."
I am able to hold over my kids heads that if I’m going to be known simply as “Your Dad” it better be for good reasons.
My friends love this because they can relate or it’s just funny to them to see me slowly slip away. I’m honestly trying to remember the last time someone called me Glenn. At work I am known as Carver or by some nicknames that can’t be repeated. The old adage about being on a “first name basis” with someone appears to be lost. I imagine, like most parents, my Mother put a lot of thought and effort into coming up with my name.
In today’s fast-paced society we’re often referred to simply as “Man”, “Dude”, “Girl” or worse just “Hey” in a loud voice. “HEY, did you get that phone number we were looking for?” If a number of people are around at that moment I assume the “HEY” is meant for the person closest to the direction it was shouted.
A phone call now usually goes like this, “Hello.” “Hey, it’s me.” “Hey, what’s up?” “You take care of what we needed?” “Yes.” “Okay, everybody doing well?” “Yes, you?” “Fine.” “Alright man, talk to you later.” It’s as if we’re all in the mafia trying to dance around the FBI’s phone taps.
I’ve also lost the ability to speak at home. My voice tends to carry, but it has been muted by children who seem like conversation magnets. I can’t count the number of times I’ve started to talk to my wife only to be interrupted by kids. It’s uncanny how quick they detect my mouth opening and interrupt my first word before it’s finished. “Nic-MOM, WHAT ARE WE HAVING FOR DINNER?” “Clean-DAD, WHERE’S THE REMOTE?” “Shop-DAD, WHAT ARE WE DOING TODAY THAT’S FUN?” It’s not disrespectful because they honestly are not aware that I’m talking. And it doesn’t matter where they are. Other side of the house, no problem. Headphones on in the car in the backseat, no problem. Scientists should really study how kids can blindly sense a parent’s lips opening and beat them to the punch. It’s like trying to see if you can catch the light out in a refrigerator by opening the door fast or slow. My mouth opens, kids shout out. Open, shout. Open, shout. Open, shout.
So, I have no name, no voice. My identity has been stolen by kids who can’t even remember to close a door or throw away trash.
I’ve accepted my fate with a faint grin because in about 20 years or so I know those same kids will likely be wondering where their identities went.
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