About a year and a half ago Jodie asked me what I wanted to
be called by our then gestating daughter.
I hadn’t even considered it. I
had always called my father “Dad.” It
hadn’t even really occurred to me that there were other options. Of course I knew there were other options.
I just had never even thought that I might diverge from how I was
brought up. In a fit of whimsy I mused
that it might be entertaining to use something retro, even bordering on
archaic, like “Pop.” I can’t imagine any
circumstance since the days of Dennis the
Menace, Leave it to Beaver or Father Knows Best (and honestly I don’t
even know if those are good examples) where I know of that that appellate was
used without a sarcastic level of irony.
I largely forgot about it for months – until December
arrived – when Jodie started using it at least as much as she used “Dad.”
Yesterday evening just before sitting down to dinner Jodie
asked December (as she often does) “who is that?” while pointing at me. Typically the best responses we get are
either a big smile or, if she vocalizes, it’s with the “Bap!” with which she
refers to almost everything – though her vocabulary of nonsense words has been
expanding around the foundation of “Bap!”
Last night she said, barely above a whisper, “Pop.” It was tentative but clear, as though she
were trying it out for the first time... which presumably she was – though
perhaps she’d been practicing when we weren’t around (like that ever
happens). Both Jodie and I heard it – we
were both pretty certain. We both
reacted with surprised and encouraging yelp.
Jodie prompted her again, “who is that?”
After a moment, she confidently and unambiguously declared “Pop!”
Oh how the heart melts in moments like this.
