We call the boy a number things. Officially his name is John “Jack” Eric Reilly Teehan.
I’ve explained the boy’s name before. John being my name, but called “Jack” partly to keep him separate from me, and partly because I had always wanted to be called that, but it never took. Eric comes from Margaret’s uncle, and Reilly comes from one of my oldest friends who passed away a few years ago.
It’s weird seeing mail come for Jack. Well, us, I suppose, really. Insurance stuff comes here under John E. Teehan. One letter off from John D. Teehan. (second middle names get ignored too often, alas)
Macaroons for all!
Around the house we call him, the boy, the child, buddy, bunny, and jackrabbit. Probably a few others as well. Oh, sure… we call him Jack from time to time as well, but probably not as much as we should.
Mostly, I think, we call him “the boy”. I think some people find this a little odd.
Not really. At least not to us. I think it has a nice old school feel to it. Plus, we often refer to each other as “husband” or “wife”.
“Husband, hand me the boy,” she’ll say.
“Wife, the boy is busy playing with these scissors,” I’ll respond.
Because I am a responsible parent, however, I’ll pass the boy over and usually remember to take back the scissors first.
It’s fun. Maybe silly at times, be we are who we are. The boy doesn’t seem to mind. And it’s not like we never call him Jack. We do, and he will respond. But I can say, “Jack’s diaper needs a’changin'” and the meaning is clear, but boring. Ordinary. Or I can deepen my voice and adopted a vaguely European-ish accent and intone, “Bring me the boy, for it is… time… to correct the condition of his soil-cloth.”
See? Isn’t that more fun?
Poor Max, though.
It gets confusing sometimes with the dog, Max, who we often refer to as… the dog. But also buddy which is what I call Jack sometimes. And yes, I’ve slipped up and have asked Jack “who’s a good boy?” in the same tone I might with Max. The dog looks confused. Or maybe I will call the dog over, “C’mere boy!” and Jack will turn his head.
As for the cat… well, as she was a stray that I had initially resisted taking in (I unresisted eventially), she is often called “not our cat” or Loki. E.g., “Not our cat has brought a bird into the house. It will be henceforth known as ‘the bird.'”
In any case, yes, the boy is Jack. The dog is Max. The wife is Margaret. The husband is my own humble self. A future conversation may go…
Margaret: Husband, the boy counted to a million today.
John: Excellent news, wife! The boy may have a macaroon.
Margaret: Husband, the dog as also counted to a million today.
John: Astounding news, wife. The dog, too, may have a macaroon.
Margaret: I, too, counted to a million today. Husband, does your wife get a macaroon?
John: Macaroons for all!
So Margaret, Max, and Jack all had macaroons. John looked on approvingly, but because he only counted to 865,404, he had to settle for a corner of an old piece of marzipan from last Christmas.
Okay… time to get back to work. The family wishes you all well.
Cheers!
–John
