Identity Crisis

Daughter has a very defined sense of self. Where it came from, I do not know. What I do know is that when Daughter was about 18 months old, she went through a phase where she felt her father and I were accusing her of being something she wasn't. Her reply was consistant and amusing (to us.)

In order to understand this dialogue, you have to know Daughter's real name. Which you don't. For the sake of clarity, let's call her Betty.

Daughter would do something ridiculous, such as dipping her grapes in barbeque sauce. To this we would tell her, "You're crazy."

"No, I Betty."

"Well, I think you are silly!"

"I no silly! I Betty!"

"Are you a potato?"

"No, I Beh-TEEEEE!"

Well, this was so hilarious to Husband and I that these conversations with Daughter turned into regular events; especially if some unaware distant relative came for a visit. We would nudge our guest and whisper to them, "Hey! Tell her she's funny!" When the expected response arrived, we all, including an ignorant Daughter, would laugh at her adorable antics.

Once we exhausted our supply of family members, questioning Daughter on who exactly she thought she was became our scheduled Saturday night event. Husband and I would shake up some dry martinis; an onion for me, two olives for him. Then the socratic interrogations would begin:

"Are you pretty?"

"No! I am Betty!" And then we spewed gin from our noses.

Over the past two years, Daughter's vocabulary expanded and certain questions wouldn't work anymore.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Aye. I'll have what you are imbibing, my dearest mother. But with extra vermouth, if you please"

Also, as Daughter became aware that her parents are both hopeless imbeciles, her protests became louder and the interviews were concluded by the rolling of her beautiful blue eyes and a heavy-footed retreat to her room. Thusly, the game lost it's novelty after a year or so. Unexpectedly, it came back tonight. And tonight, I took it too far.

I was holding Daughter in my lap. Recalling an old Bugs Bunny cartoon, I squeezed her torso and said, "I'm gonna love you, and hug you, and squeeze you, and call you George!"



Daughter squirmed out of my embrace and declared, "I am not George!"

Suddenly, I was in junior high again. I felt the euphoric surge that teenagers get when they have spotted their enemy's (or best friend's) mental weakness. I couldn't help myself.

"No, you are my George. I'm going to pat you, and pet you and call you..."

"I am not George!"

"Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean it. What's wrong, George?"

"I AM NOT GEORGE! YOU NOT CALL ME GEORGE TODAY! DON'T CALL ME GEORGE TOMORROW! MY NAME IS BEH-TEE!!!!!"

Her mental reserves exhaused, Daughter collapsed into a pile of boneless flesh wrapped in a flowery sundress. Her sobbing was inconsolable. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with this unloving parent of hers who insisted on calling her such a disgusting word as George.

Husband heard the commotion from our home office and came into the living room to investigate. He picked her up and asked, "What's wrong, baby girl?"

She was still sobbing. In-between gulps of air and withering glares in my direction, Daughter managed to tell her daddy, "Mommy. She was. Calling me. She said I was. George! But I.. I not George today. Or tomorrow. I am Betty!"

Husband couldn't help himself. Despite Daughter's distress, he began giggling.

"Daddy, it's not funny. It's not funny at all!

"Well, what if we call Mommy "George...?"

God bless her unborn sense of revenge. Still sniffling, she brokered for peace. "No, Daddy... she's my mom. We don't call her George. We call her Mommy."

I stood up from the couch at gave both of them a hug. I reassured Daughter that I would never call her or anyone else George ever again.