Saturday, December 02, 2006

my name is Darlene. get used to it.

Apparently my name is still Darlene. I can't stop answering to it because I still find it very amusing that my son has invented this new name for me. It fascinates me.

When my nephew was very young he used to call me Mimi. I loved this, but relatives discouraged it. "Make him call you by your real name, Sharon." Try as he would, he couldn't pronounce Sharon and called me Tin-tin.

I said it then, I'll say it now: I miss the days when I was Mimi.

What difference does it make? If a kid wants to make up a new name for you, what harm is in it? Who's to say their version isn't truer? Maybe I do look like a Darlene.

Maybe that's what it is: it's the different perspective that intrigues me. The worst thing about being a child myself was this adult insistence on their version being the right one. I promised myself that if I ever grew up (I had my doubts!) I'd remember what this felt like, this suffocating, claustrophobic littleness grown-up people always wanted to force you into. (What do you know about it? You're just a kid. This is just the way it is.)

It's true I can't live on imagination. But there's no reason I have to give up all of it.

So much is made up anyway, even in the grown up world. Blogging is a form of make believe.

But so what?

A grown up person would look at a watercolor wash I'd just done and see this:

I looked at it and saw this instead:

It doesn't matter if my name is Darlene or Mimi or Sharon. It just matters that I don't stop seeing the world with new eyes.

(matters to who?)
(matters to me.)