What’s in a name?
Shauna and I love the the neighborhood that our house is in. It’s located on the perfect little dead-end street under a canopy of tall, old shade trees. Everybody on our block keeps their house up, and nearly everybody keeps their yards neat. Most water their lawns every other day, valiantly attempting to keep their lawns green with little to no rainfall to speak of.
Our neighbors themselves all seem very nice too. We all wave at each other, exchange pleasantries, chat at the end of driveways and stay to ourselves. It’s perfect… nearly.
Our next-door neighbor, whom we have the most contact with, believes my name is Josh. And it’s probably my fault.
Curtis is not an extremely loud guy, so when we talk from yard to yard, there is a lot of smiling and nodding. Combine that with my hearing issues, and I’m not sure if either of us know what we’re talking about.
He knew in the beginning that my name is Jason, but sometime in the past year and a half has taken to calling me Josh, and I haven’t corrected him. I wanted to, but when I finally noticed that he was calling me Josh, I figured he must have been calling me that for nearly a year. Two or three times per week I’d get a, “Hey, Josh!” To which I’d smile and nod with a hello back to him.
I’d feel pretty stupid for correcting him now, considering I’ve been answering to Josh all along. It might just be easier to change my name – or continue smiling and nodding.
