Call me Mark

At church Sunday, two separate people called me David. Granted, I’ve been called much worse than that, but it irritated me a little bit, because that’s not my name.

Well, OK, it IS my name, but it’s not the one I go by. I go by Mark. Don’t ask my why I go by my middle name. That was my parents’ doing. By the time I realized that, I was well-established as a Mark and there was no going back.

I probably had it coming to me, anyway, because last week I went to a music store in Griffin with my daughter, and introduced her to a guy who works there that I’ve known for about 20 years. “This is my friend, John,” I told her. I noticed John had a bit of a strange look on his face, and I realized why later in the car, when it occurred to me that his name is actually David.

And there’s another guy at church who called me David for years, which is all right, because I called him Bill all that time, and his name is David. Complicating matters as the fact that my son is also named David. What is it about that name?

I have a neighbor who lives across the street from me, and for many years we have stood outside in our yards and talk about football or golf or yard work and other important man-stuff. I would say, “Hey, Clay, how are you doing?”, or “See you later, Clay.”

One day my wife saw his wife in the grocery store, and the woman made a couple of references to somebody named “Thad.” Finally my wife said, “Is your husband named Thad?” Yes, she said, he is. I’d only been calling him Clay for, oh, eight years or so.

I wonder why he didn’t correct me? But then again, I didn’t correct anybody at church, and the guy in the music store didn’t correct me. I guess we don’t want to embarrass people.

I used to work for a guy, now retired, who would always pass me in the hall and say, “Hey there, buddy.” I thought, wow, isn’t that nice, he’s the head of the whole department and he thinks of me as his buddy. What a friendly guy.

As a couple of years passed, though, I noticed that he only called me buddy, never Mark. So I figured either he thought my name WAS Buddy, or that I was so low on the totem pole that he didn’t feel the need to waste any energy learning my real name. Turns out the latter assumption was correct.

Whenever I answer the phone and somebody asks to speak with David Williams, I hang up, because it’s generally somebody looking to sell me something I don’t want or collect money I don’t have.

I don’t know what to do about getting my name right at church. It’s not a big church, and I’ve been a member there for four years. Maybe I should just wear a nametag.