Momnesia

A Rose by Any Other Name...

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie made friends with the boy next door about 28 seconds after we moved into this house. She was so delighted to have someone her age to play with, that it almost made up for the selfish mean dog owners on the other side.

We've lived here for 5 months, now, and Emmie and her friend have been getting along great. A couple of days ago, though, as they were playing, she was calling his name and trying to get him to catch a ball. He looked at me, with a smirk beyond his kindergarten age: "My name not Jose," he said.

LOL! We've been calling this poor kid Jose for the whole time. Turns out Emmie didn't understand his name, Zaquan (Zah-kwan), when she first met him, and we've all been calling him the wrong name ever since. Poor guy.

So we've been working on getting her to use his correct name, but you know how it is when you meet someone. Your brain attaches a name and your reasoning self is pretty much left out of it. Heck, I worked at a newspaper in Athens for two years, during which time the publisher never once called me by my name. She called me Katherine every day, and I never had the heart to correct her.

This, too, might be a losing battle. Because what Emerson has in recall - seriously, do not play Memory with her; you will be horribly embarrassed - she has equally in stubbornness.