Just Call Me Mary

I've realized that if I want to be taken seriously I need to start calling adults by their first names. I somehow missed the memo. It should have gone out in an

email or a postcard or on one of those brightly colored Post-It notes where I

would easily see it. For everything else there is more than just an understanding

of privileges, but a set age, a graduation date if you will: at sixteen you can drive,at eighteen you can vote, at twenty-one you can drink. How about at nineteen or twenty you can call adults by their first name? It seems that no general agreement has been made on the subject, and though I am well into my twenties, I’m still inclinedto slap an abbreviation at the start of a name, which is when I often get the response of“Oh, Hon, you can call me Mary.” The switch is random, uncomfortable, and neverabsolute. How do the Mr. and Mrs. abruptly become Tim, Doug, Janet, or Barb ifthey have been Mrs. Smith you’re entire life? The expectations for breaking a steadfast habit – an inherent part of my upbringing was respect when addressingpeople – simply make for complicated situations. Your friends were on a first name basis, cousins, the babysitter, and the practice has continued. Surely my childhood friend’s mother is still…my childhood friend’s mother and, therefore,deserves the recognition of sticking it through all those years of drama and discipline.“No,” I often want to reply instead, “I have not yet risen to your stature, and possibly never will. So let’s both maintain the position we know ourselves to be in.” I can’t call everyone Mary; not all welcome the transition or the outright assumption of equality. I am rarely corrected the other way around, but I know more than one recipient has thought, “Who do you think you are you little punk?’ but lets it slide anyway. At least verbally. Since no general consensus has been reached amongst all parties, I always hesitate, even stutter if I get it out at all, and when I do it sounds awkward and disruptive,as if I just hiccupped with a mouthful of JELLO. Possibly if a new acquaintance introduces themselves as Bill or Kathy… it’s a welcomed gesture, an invitation to know them informally if you will, and it seems that the angst would be relieved. But to ventureout on my own is a daring deed and once the line is drawn I’m not inclined to erase it.

I know other priviledges have bestowed upon me since I've become a "certain age" that I have accepted whole-heartedly. Even earning a Ms. in front of my own name - though not my last name, which ninety percent of them aren’t going to be able to hit anywhere near the mark on that pronunciation. Something they’ll probably getin trouble for saying will end up coming out – the all too close resemblance of a “bad”word. Quite simply, it would also make me feel about fifteen years older than I am,maybe twenty. I guess I'll get there, but first, let's work on not feeling so little around people.

1st photo via prettyfunstuff.tumblr.com