My Dad introduces himself as Bob, but under any given professional circumstance, he is none other than Robert. I always liked that about him. He gave the most formal version of himself when the situation was most formal, and let people become casual with him as they became comfortable. Most of all I like that for years, my Dad’s unanswered phone has told me I have reached the voicemail box of Robert…Robert, as he was clearly under the impression that it didn’t catch the first one.
He’s Bob to most people, Robert to many, and he’s been called the other variations once or twice. He’s never seemed to care either way, and although as a child I took it all pretty seriously (everyone remembers my demand to no longer be Robby), I’ve slowly decided I like his approach best. As opposed to those of you who roll your eyes when I call you by the wrong variation of your own name, as if you have a choice in the matter. Places are what people call them, not what they call themselves. People should be so humble.
So when I visited the graduate school I now attend for the first time last spring, I introduced myself as Robert, because we were shaking hands, it was day time, and we were all business. Since I’ve moved, I’ve changed my voicemail, and one of the first messages was from my old friend Wilson who said Oh, so you’re Robert now. There are new friends who are far from professional acquaintances that know me as nothing other than Robert. People in Kansas, Texas, Florida, and Kentucky call me Robby Joe. My best friend in Lawrence, TJ, calls me by the name that my father only hears from his wife (Bing). One particular girl on the West Coast calls me Robot. And some of the people here that I shook serious hands with months ago have since asked me what I prefer, and I’ve instructed with emphasis and honesty whatever they like. Though secretly, I’ve wanted to say Robert with a pause and then again, just like father’s endearing phone. Cause everybody likes my Dad, and he seems to have perfected the art of being whomever people want him to be. Surgeon, cowboy, good guy down the street.
So it was with unexpected pride and pleasure that an instructor took my sincere advice and tried out one I’ve never gotten. Okay Bob, he said, let’s get started.