Names

My adult nieces -- who are not twins -- have very similar names: Kristin and Kirstin. Needless to say, they do not appreciate it when called by the wrong name. I don't make the mistake too often when I am talking to them, but my fingers mistype occasionally ... I can blame my brainless fingers, right?

My father had a problem with names, at least with my brother's name and mine. And our names are not the least bit alike: Michael (although my father always called me Mike) and Ted (not Theodore!)

When addressing me, Daddy would usually start out, "Ted, Buddy, Talmadge, Ray ...," running through the name of every male relative in the family before finally lighting on Mike.

I suppose one reason it didn't damage my ego -- besides the fact that it is hard to damage anything the size of my ego -- is that he did that same thing when talking to my brother, only then the routine would go, "Mike, Buddy, Talmadge, Ray ...," eventually landing on Ted. 

For that matter, when addressing my uncle Buddy, Daddy was likely to start off by calling him Mike or Ted or the name of one of my other uncles.

After my brother's son Justin was born, my father would sometimes toss that name into the list as he searched in vain for the right name for the person standing in front of him.

There are all sorts of pseudo-psychological explanations, probably even a name for the syndrome. If not, I propose we call it the Byron Dodd Endless Name Litany Syndrome. When I did a computer search, I ran across all sort of people who struggle with names. The explanation that seemed most reasonable, although not attached to a specific term, is that the names are close in emotional memory. Thus it happens most often with the names of family members and the brain just slips and inserts the wrong name. My favorite solution for the problem was the woman who chose to call everyone Carol. Not sure how her male relatives reacted to that, however.

It reminded me, though, of touring Beechwood, the Astor mansion/cottage in Newport, Rhode Island many moons ago. The tour guide told us that the Astors tended to call all male servants Patrick and all female servants Mary. They said they had too many of them to remember their names and it was a waste of time. 

Mrs. Astor [yes, that Mrs. Astor] also did not permit the servants to marry. "You don't have time to take care of my family; how do you propose to take care of one of your own?" she supposedly told a maid who had the temerity to ask.

I think there is already a term for that particular problem ...