We were leaving the Museum of Life and Science last Monday, William’s birthday. On the way out, we had to pass the strategically located gift shop. There, standing just outside the entrance, was a display of mugs. The mugs were brightly colored, and each bore a name. The idea, of course, is to find one’s own name, and get a mug just especially for you.
The children spotted it and made their way over. Inwardly I cringed. Emma’s name would Most Certainly be there, as would William’s. But I knew for certain that Everett’s name wouldn’t be.
He was looking. Evan. Ethan. Eric. No Everett.
“Where’s my name, Mom?” he said to me.
We hadn’t turned the rotating display rack; we weren’t working that hard yet. I was scanning the display, looking hard for Everett’s name even as I was hoping to distract them and move them on and out of the museum. It was time to go home.
Why was it so important to me? I just didn’t want Everett to discover that his name was missing. Worse, I didn’t want the others to discover their names and then find Everett’s name Missing.
And then my wise child, my only just nine boy, spoke up. “It’s not here, Everett. Your name isn’t here,” William said. “Neither is mine. I guess we just don’t have very popular names.”
And that was that. I could sense Everett’s sense of resolution, the comfort he gets in identifying with his big brother. We moved away from the display rack and, finally, went home.
So William saved the day. Or saved Everett from disappointment, at least. I don’t know if he meant to, or if he honestly didn’t see his own name there. I don’t know if he was being valiant and coming to the rescue, or if he believed, if only for that moment, what he said.
I asked him tonight if he knows any other kids named William. He didn’t pause before answering, “Three.”
