August 3, 2016 Article

The Old Coot will call you Tim.

By Merlin Lessler (AKA Jim Steel)

I know three guys named Tim. Tim #1 thinks his name is Tom, as in Tom Silvanik. Tim #2 thinks his name is Robert, as in Robert Fairlie. Tim #3 is different. His name really is Tim, as in Tim O’Rourke.

Tim #1 is used to me calling him Tim. He doesn’t even correct me anymore. Sometimes I remember and call him Tim-Tom, but usually it’s just, “Hi Tim!”

Tim #2 is new to the game. I see him and say, "Hi Tim.” He immediately tells me his name is Robert. I don’t care, I still call him Tim. That’s the name I programmed into my head and I don’t have access to I.T. people to fix it. But, he’s coming around. He doesn’t correct me as much anymore, and when he does it’s by calling me Jim. He doesn’t know it, but I like being called Jim. When I was a kid it’s one of the names I used. Some people in Elmira, where I lived for 5 years in the sixties, still call me Jim, as in Jim Steel the electrician, neither of which I am. (Doesn’t everyone have an alias?)

I would have killed for a name like Jim growing up. If my father named me Sue, like the kid in that old Johnny Cash song, I wouldn’t have been any worse off. Growing up as a Merlin did have some advantages. It was instrumental in teaching me to defend myself on the playground, but that got old after a while and “Jim” was born. In third grade I found myself with a seat assignment on the girl’s side of the room, until the teacher called attendance and got no response when she called out Marilyn, even after repeating it several times. She finally looked up, saw I was a boy and quickly ordered me to the boy’s side of the room. She got mad because she had to redo her seating chart. She didn’t like me after that and I didn’t like her, because she would still call me Marilyn every once in a while. I think on purpose. 

Growing up with a moniker like Merlin is the reason I can’t relate to people getting irked when an old coot calls them Tim. It may not be their name, but it’s a nice name. (It’s not Marilyn). Besides, if an old guy calls you by the wrong name, you should give him a pass. Be impressed that he even remembers that he knows you. So, we’re a little sloppy; we call Craig, Greg, and we call Tracy, Stacy. And we lump all the women named Katie, Katlyn, Kyla, Catherine and Kathleen into one name – Kate.  Let it go.

A few years back I wrote about my name problem with the Wiles twins, Paul and Phil. How my batting average was less than 50% in getting their name right when I saw them around town. And, the day my head exploded. First, I ran into Paul and called him Phil. Then, I ran into Phil and called him Paul. A few minutes later, Paul Phillips came walking up and I called him Phillip. I didn’t think it could get any more confusing until I discovered a guy named Paul, that I had coffee with several times a week at the Starbucks in Ormond Beach, Florida was also named Paul Phillips. Son of a gun if the wires in my head didn’t get crossed and I started calling him Phillip. I give up. When I’m back there next winter, I’m just going to call him Tim.

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