Peanuticus One and Peanuticus Two
The odds are high that, on any particular day, my Dad will not be able to correctly recollect or utter the names of my brother (M) or I. It's been that way our entire lives.
Friends, family, and any of the workers at the factories (or customer's offices) Dad and I would occasionally drop by would undoubtedly know that Peanuticus One referred to me and Peanuticus Two was M. With a casual inflection you'd hear "I've brought Peanuticus One and Two with me... " or (to me) "tell Peanuticus we're leaving" etc. practically every day.
I have no idea where the naming convention came from. It makes no sense in reality - and you'd be hard-pressed to label it dementia (unless you wanted a three-finger stab to the rib-cage when you weren't expecting it). But then again my larger-than-life Dad tended to use made-up names on the fly for most people. There was the "little pommie b*astard", "Dipstick One", "Dipstick Two", "Mr Bean", etc. - names that, after being repeated so often, tended to be understood (but thankfully rarely repeated) by all around. I hate to say it, but my dad's habit of impromptu and often derogatory naming isn't that far removed from what President Trump does all too often for his opponents.
As a kid, having been referred to as Peanuticus for so many years, it never really mattered to me. It was only Dad that referred to me that way (and still does occasionally if there's anyone else within earshot).
There's been many times I've recalled one of my Dad's more popular (and too frequently told) jokes and wondered if I could orchestrate something similar.
A kid is surrounded by a dozen other bigger kids looking for an excuse to beat him up. "Whats your name little kid?" the biggest thug asks. "Jesus Christ" the little kid replies. "Liar! We'll beat you up for taking the Lords name in vain and for lying to us." responds the thug. "I can prove it!" says the little kid with pride. The surrounding kids huddle and the ringleader says "prove it and we'll leave you alone. Otherwise we'll beat you up every day for a week". "OK, follow me" and the little kid leads the dozen thugs to his home, opens the door and invites them all in to the lounge to wait for his fathers arrival. On hour goes by, and there's the sound of a car pulling up the driveway, steps to the door, a jingle of keys, and into the lounge the little kid's father steps. "JESUS CHRIST! Why the f*ck did you bring all these arseholes into the house?" shouts his father.
I imagined "Peanuticus" being in my own father's response.
The fact that I've thought about that damned joke so many times may in fact highlight some kind of hidden psychological scar I've carried my entire life I guess.
As a parent and pseudo-adult, I must admit that my lifelong struggle to learn and recollect people names hasn't yet had me screwing up my own kids names... beyond the thing that happens to every parent with more than one kid.
Every parent ends up doing it. You're so used to telling one kid off for doing something they shouldn't do that when the other kid does it just once, you end up shouting the wrong kids name at the commencement of your well practiced tirade.
So far though I've managed to steer clear of calling my kids Peanuts, Peanuticus, or anything endearingly weird like that. It is a tempting thought though. Sorry, not sorry???
-- Gunter
Friends, family, and any of the workers at the factories (or customer's offices) Dad and I would occasionally drop by would undoubtedly know that Peanuticus One referred to me and Peanuticus Two was M. With a casual inflection you'd hear "I've brought Peanuticus One and Two with me... " or (to me) "tell Peanuticus we're leaving" etc. practically every day.
I have no idea where the naming convention came from. It makes no sense in reality - and you'd be hard-pressed to label it dementia (unless you wanted a three-finger stab to the rib-cage when you weren't expecting it). But then again my larger-than-life Dad tended to use made-up names on the fly for most people. There was the "little pommie b*astard", "Dipstick One", "Dipstick Two", "Mr Bean", etc. - names that, after being repeated so often, tended to be understood (but thankfully rarely repeated) by all around. I hate to say it, but my dad's habit of impromptu and often derogatory naming isn't that far removed from what President Trump does all too often for his opponents.
There's been many times I've recalled one of my Dad's more popular (and too frequently told) jokes and wondered if I could orchestrate something similar.
A kid is surrounded by a dozen other bigger kids looking for an excuse to beat him up. "Whats your name little kid?" the biggest thug asks. "Jesus Christ" the little kid replies. "Liar! We'll beat you up for taking the Lords name in vain and for lying to us." responds the thug. "I can prove it!" says the little kid with pride. The surrounding kids huddle and the ringleader says "prove it and we'll leave you alone. Otherwise we'll beat you up every day for a week". "OK, follow me" and the little kid leads the dozen thugs to his home, opens the door and invites them all in to the lounge to wait for his fathers arrival. On hour goes by, and there's the sound of a car pulling up the driveway, steps to the door, a jingle of keys, and into the lounge the little kid's father steps. "JESUS CHRIST! Why the f*ck did you bring all these arseholes into the house?" shouts his father.
I imagined "Peanuticus" being in my own father's response.
The fact that I've thought about that damned joke so many times may in fact highlight some kind of hidden psychological scar I've carried my entire life I guess.
As a parent and pseudo-adult, I must admit that my lifelong struggle to learn and recollect people names hasn't yet had me screwing up my own kids names... beyond the thing that happens to every parent with more than one kid.
Every parent ends up doing it. You're so used to telling one kid off for doing something they shouldn't do that when the other kid does it just once, you end up shouting the wrong kids name at the commencement of your well practiced tirade.
So far though I've managed to steer clear of calling my kids Peanuts, Peanuticus, or anything endearingly weird like that. It is a tempting thought though. Sorry, not sorry???
-- Gunter
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