There isn't much that surprises me, and I pride myself on being able to handle the unexpected. To face trouble and uncertainty with a calm and detached manner is what I've trained myself to do over the years. In a crisis, emotions get in the way, and I've taught myself to set them aside when necessary. It's not that I'm indifferent or that I lack emotion; I simply know when to shut that part of me down. It's a skill that has allowed me to constantly move forward when times get rough. In such times, you can count on me to hold down the fort, to stand tall, to be a pillar to lean against. My emotions are reliably in check.
Or such was the impression I had of myself until last Sunday when word came that one of our cats was seriously ill. Suddenly faced with the realization that one of our household might not be with us much longer, I buckled. All other thoughts left my mind - job, family, friends, bills, weather, everything evaporated from my mind with this news. My one consuming thought was of the cat and a life left to live without her. I crumbled inside. Not knowing what else to do, I had a drink, and my three and a half year wagon ride was over. I cried.
It's a shock to the system to find out you aren't who you thought you were, to learn you aren't as strong as you thought yourself to be. I'm not a rock after all, and that disappoints me. There's nothing wrong with men showing their emotions, and I don't think of myself as any less manly for feeling them. What troubles me is that I cracked when I should've been solid. When one is as lacking in natural-born talents as I am, one has to find something about themselves to hold on to, and I latched on to my ability to calmly face a crisis. And it's not like I haven't experienced death before. Like most in this world I've lost family and friends and pets before, and so death is no stranger to me. Like all living things, our cats must someday die. I just thought I'd be ready when the time came, and I realize now that I'll never be ready.
Some might think I'm over-reacting, that a cat is a cat. I know this sentiment exists because people have told me as much. "It's not," I was lectured, "like a cat is a person, a child. It's a cat." Some people raise children that will grow up to be doctors and lawyers and such, while others will raise "children" that will be lions and tigers and bears. They have their family, and I have mine.
The future isn't as bleak for our cat as it was a few days ago, but the our time with her is drawing to a close. I'll buck up and show a good face because that's what I expect myself to do; inside, however, I'm in tatters.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Actors Behaving...Well, Not the Way I'd Like
A lot has happened lately that might ordinarily evoke a comment or two out of me, such as the AZ shootings, blood libel and the Week Atlanta Stood Still. I do have my opinions, but they're probably nothing very different than those forced upon you by others. No, my thoughts have been focused on the much more pedestrian but no less important departure of Steve Carell from "The Office." Apparently, he will not be finishing out the season and the last three episodes of "The Office" will be sans Michael Scott.
I think that's selfish. I mean, the fact that he's leaving the series to "focus on his movie career" is selfish enough but to not even finish the season is a slap in the face to the show's viewers. Entertainers have an obligation to entertain if they want to continue to reap the benefits of our adulation, and when the form of that entertainment is a character on which the existence of an entire series rests, well, said entertainers have an obligation, nay, a duty! to continue performing in that role. Carell OWES it to us to finish out the season! Millions of people have sacrificed 30 minutes every Thursday night to be entertained by "The Office" (not to mention countless hours of re-runs) and to have that sacrifice thrown back in our faces by Carell's departure is an act of treason. It's as though it doesn't matter to him what we want. "Howl, howl, howl, howl! O!, you are men of stones!" (That's a Shakespeare reference)
"The Office" owes its popularity to Carell's performance, and the producers and directors are fooling themselves if they believe the show can survive without Michael Scott. Television history is replete with excellent shows landing in the Nielson ratings trash heap because of acts of betrayal on the part of actors thinking they can make it big in the movies:
Northern Exposure:
Rob Morrow left to pursue a movie career, and one of the best series to grace the TV screen dissolved. Morrow's movie career was a bust and, lo and behold, he's back on TV.
The X-Files:
Special Agent Fox Mulder wanted to believe and we believed in him. David Duchovny eventually dumped the beautiful Agent Scully for Hollywood sirens, and though the series lasted a few more seasons, it was lackluster at best. So, too, was Duchovny's movie career, and he also finds himself back on TV.
CSI:
The most watched show on TV for, like, eight years, CSI dried up in the Las Vegas sun when the character of Gil Grissom went in search of insects (and William Peterson went in search of a stage). Now you don't even see "CSI" advertised unless it's the Miami or NY spin-offs.
That 70's Show:
Ashton Kutcher did launch a successful career after bailing on a pretty funny show, but it certainly wasn't in the movies. He is more famous now, but we all know it's not because of his acting talents.
Add to those a string of failed movie careers by former "SNL" stars and the vast television audience is left empty-handed. Sure, it's selfish of me to think it's selfish of an actor to take his career in a new direction; I very much doubt Carell would mind if I took a step up from the academic to corporate (or CIA) library world. Then again, I'm a nobody and he's not. I'm the consumer in this relationship and being selfish is part and parcel of the role that I play. Actors should play their roles out to the end. Without Michael Scott, "The Office" won't last much longer, and we'll all eventually forget about the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin. That makes me sad. I sure hope Steve Carell can sleep at night.
I think that's selfish. I mean, the fact that he's leaving the series to "focus on his movie career" is selfish enough but to not even finish the season is a slap in the face to the show's viewers. Entertainers have an obligation to entertain if they want to continue to reap the benefits of our adulation, and when the form of that entertainment is a character on which the existence of an entire series rests, well, said entertainers have an obligation, nay, a duty! to continue performing in that role. Carell OWES it to us to finish out the season! Millions of people have sacrificed 30 minutes every Thursday night to be entertained by "The Office" (not to mention countless hours of re-runs) and to have that sacrifice thrown back in our faces by Carell's departure is an act of treason. It's as though it doesn't matter to him what we want. "Howl, howl, howl, howl! O!, you are men of stones!" (That's a Shakespeare reference)
"The Office" owes its popularity to Carell's performance, and the producers and directors are fooling themselves if they believe the show can survive without Michael Scott. Television history is replete with excellent shows landing in the Nielson ratings trash heap because of acts of betrayal on the part of actors thinking they can make it big in the movies:
Northern Exposure:
Rob Morrow left to pursue a movie career, and one of the best series to grace the TV screen dissolved. Morrow's movie career was a bust and, lo and behold, he's back on TV.
The X-Files:
Special Agent Fox Mulder wanted to believe and we believed in him. David Duchovny eventually dumped the beautiful Agent Scully for Hollywood sirens, and though the series lasted a few more seasons, it was lackluster at best. So, too, was Duchovny's movie career, and he also finds himself back on TV.
CSI:
The most watched show on TV for, like, eight years, CSI dried up in the Las Vegas sun when the character of Gil Grissom went in search of insects (and William Peterson went in search of a stage). Now you don't even see "CSI" advertised unless it's the Miami or NY spin-offs.
That 70's Show:
Ashton Kutcher did launch a successful career after bailing on a pretty funny show, but it certainly wasn't in the movies. He is more famous now, but we all know it's not because of his acting talents.
Add to those a string of failed movie careers by former "SNL" stars and the vast television audience is left empty-handed. Sure, it's selfish of me to think it's selfish of an actor to take his career in a new direction; I very much doubt Carell would mind if I took a step up from the academic to corporate (or CIA) library world. Then again, I'm a nobody and he's not. I'm the consumer in this relationship and being selfish is part and parcel of the role that I play. Actors should play their roles out to the end. Without Michael Scott, "The Office" won't last much longer, and we'll all eventually forget about the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin. That makes me sad. I sure hope Steve Carell can sleep at night.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
My Banned Words List
Lake Superior State University published its annual list of banished words for 2011. As a librarian, I'm supposed to be opposed to the banning of things such as books, ideas, and words, and for the most part, I am. Censorship raises my liberal hackles in much the same way freedom of speech for everyone raises the hackles of conservative pundits. Still, I find myself opposed to the use of certain words and phrases, mainly because of their rude and crude nature. If I had my way, I'd have the following familiar words banned, banished, and binned:
Poop:
Recently I heard a woman tell her toy dog to go "poopsies" and it took all I had to stop myself from yelling to her that the dog doesn't know "poopsies" from "shit" and that she should grow up and use adult words. "Poop" just sounds stupid.
Boob:
Whether referring to a certain part of the female body or a bumbling doofus, I don't like it and now is the only instance you will know me to write or say it. "Knockers" should go, too.
Fart:
The word is as bad as the sound and that which follows. Please keep the word and action to yourself.
Pee:
Men should never say it.
Booger/Snot:
Both words are repulsive in their sound and imagery, especially the latter. Tanner from The Bad News Bears is perhaps the only person to use the former without sounding, well, like a booger-eating moron.
Potty:
It's a toilet.
Pussy cat:
Call my cats that and you die.
Poop:
Recently I heard a woman tell her toy dog to go "poopsies" and it took all I had to stop myself from yelling to her that the dog doesn't know "poopsies" from "shit" and that she should grow up and use adult words. "Poop" just sounds stupid.
Boob:
Whether referring to a certain part of the female body or a bumbling doofus, I don't like it and now is the only instance you will know me to write or say it. "Knockers" should go, too.
Fart:
The word is as bad as the sound and that which follows. Please keep the word and action to yourself.
Pee:
Men should never say it.
Booger/Snot:
Both words are repulsive in their sound and imagery, especially the latter. Tanner from The Bad News Bears is perhaps the only person to use the former without sounding, well, like a booger-eating moron.
Potty:
It's a toilet.
Pussy cat:
Call my cats that and you die.
Monday, December 13, 2010
In Defense of the Top 1%
I am not rich. I am not poor. I am middle class. Neither upper or lower middle class, I am simply middle middle class. As an academic librarian, higher education's social worker, I have no reason to believe that I will ever elevate myself beyond my middle middle class standing. I have no talent, no non-librarian marketable skills, no gift for the entrepreneurial. I have more than what I need in life and a lot less than what I want from it. I am one of those "mass of men" whom Thoreau described as living a life of "quiet desperation." That being said, I don't think it's right to punish the rich for being rich.
Democrats believe otherwise. They think it's good - even noble and righteous - to punish the wealthy, in this case, by not extending their tax cuts, tax cuts Dems think every other American should retain. It is selfish and un-American to deny one group of individuals the same benefit being doled out to the majority. Liberals would normally claim such a situation discriminatory and would rant until blue in the face about the injustice of it all, but since the rich tend to be conservatives they are now more than happy to uphold the injustice of it all. Discriminating against the top 1-2% of our society is still discrimination, and it is hypocrisy like that which drove me away from the Democratic Party.
The rich are an easy target because we envy them. We know we will never be their financial equals, and so out of spite we look for ways to get back at them. I don't know anyone in this country, however, who wouldn't trade places financially with someone making over $300,000 a year. That's what we all work for, isn't it? To make money? And yet some insist on punishing those who just happen to be better than the rest of us at making money. It's not the fault of the wealthy if you pursued a career in a field our society doesn't appreciate enough to allow you to make over 300K. Blame your fellow riff-raff for that! Also keep in mind as the Dems salivate over sticking it to the wealthy that in a lot of instances, we, the oh-so-downtrodden, helped to make the rich get rich by buying their products, going to their concerts and games, eating at their restaurants, and enjoying their movies. It's not only bankers and Wall Street CEOs who we would punish. You explain to Oprah, Tom Brady, Regis, George Clooney, and Lady Gaga why they should pay more in taxes because we like what they do.
The idle and the incompetent don't become rich, and so it is that somewhere in the history of every wealthy family is someone who worked very hard to EARN a fortune. I thought that the ethos behind the American Dream was that if you worked hard enough, opportunity and fortune would follow, and yet here we are on the verge of punishing a small minority of people for accomplishing that dream. Sure, there are some whose fortunes were made bilking, cheating and swindling others, but to judge all wealthy people by those few is no different than proclaiming all poor people deadbeats who prefer living off welfare to having a job simply because there a few who are just like that! This idea that "working Americans" are everybody but the wealthy and thus more deserving of tax breaks is laughable. The rich work, too, sometimes harder than you and me, sometimes not, but they work nonetheless and shouldn't punished for it.
BTW, it should be noted that the same small group of Americans that the Dems want to punish for making money is the same small group that donates almost $2 billion more than the rest of us combined to assist those in need. Perhaps it is just because they have more money to give to the less fortunate but there's nothing saying that they have to donate anything at all, and yet they do. (see Table 9, page 12).
I will never be rich. Mine will most likely always be a life of financial mediocrity, resigned to entertaining but never living out fantasies of a more affluent lifestyle. I'll never have a yacht, London flat, private airplane, swimming pool, or gardener. I'll never be able to afford to travel to Venice before it sinks. And I'm not going to hold it against those that do have those things and can visit Venice (especially if they take me with!). Tax cuts for everyone or tax cuts for no one.
Democrats believe otherwise. They think it's good - even noble and righteous - to punish the wealthy, in this case, by not extending their tax cuts, tax cuts Dems think every other American should retain. It is selfish and un-American to deny one group of individuals the same benefit being doled out to the majority. Liberals would normally claim such a situation discriminatory and would rant until blue in the face about the injustice of it all, but since the rich tend to be conservatives they are now more than happy to uphold the injustice of it all. Discriminating against the top 1-2% of our society is still discrimination, and it is hypocrisy like that which drove me away from the Democratic Party.
The rich are an easy target because we envy them. We know we will never be their financial equals, and so out of spite we look for ways to get back at them. I don't know anyone in this country, however, who wouldn't trade places financially with someone making over $300,000 a year. That's what we all work for, isn't it? To make money? And yet some insist on punishing those who just happen to be better than the rest of us at making money. It's not the fault of the wealthy if you pursued a career in a field our society doesn't appreciate enough to allow you to make over 300K. Blame your fellow riff-raff for that! Also keep in mind as the Dems salivate over sticking it to the wealthy that in a lot of instances, we, the oh-so-downtrodden, helped to make the rich get rich by buying their products, going to their concerts and games, eating at their restaurants, and enjoying their movies. It's not only bankers and Wall Street CEOs who we would punish. You explain to Oprah, Tom Brady, Regis, George Clooney, and Lady Gaga why they should pay more in taxes because we like what they do.
The idle and the incompetent don't become rich, and so it is that somewhere in the history of every wealthy family is someone who worked very hard to EARN a fortune. I thought that the ethos behind the American Dream was that if you worked hard enough, opportunity and fortune would follow, and yet here we are on the verge of punishing a small minority of people for accomplishing that dream. Sure, there are some whose fortunes were made bilking, cheating and swindling others, but to judge all wealthy people by those few is no different than proclaiming all poor people deadbeats who prefer living off welfare to having a job simply because there a few who are just like that! This idea that "working Americans" are everybody but the wealthy and thus more deserving of tax breaks is laughable. The rich work, too, sometimes harder than you and me, sometimes not, but they work nonetheless and shouldn't punished for it.
BTW, it should be noted that the same small group of Americans that the Dems want to punish for making money is the same small group that donates almost $2 billion more than the rest of us combined to assist those in need. Perhaps it is just because they have more money to give to the less fortunate but there's nothing saying that they have to donate anything at all, and yet they do. (see Table 9, page 12).
I will never be rich. Mine will most likely always be a life of financial mediocrity, resigned to entertaining but never living out fantasies of a more affluent lifestyle. I'll never have a yacht, London flat, private airplane, swimming pool, or gardener. I'll never be able to afford to travel to Venice before it sinks. And I'm not going to hold it against those that do have those things and can visit Venice (especially if they take me with!). Tax cuts for everyone or tax cuts for no one.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
A Death Sentence
Over the past several days, HomeAgain, our pets' microchip company, has sent out "Lost Pet in Your Area" email alerts featuring at least three cats who went missing. Each cat had been declawed. Short of finding their way home or being found those three cats don't really have a chance. Since they have no front claws they can't climb trees or fences to escape dogs and they can't really defend themselves against other cats. Their ability to catch mice, insects and other animals that might help keep them alive is severely diminished. Add to that the fact that overnight temperatures in the Atlanta area have been in the 20's with highs during the days being in the 40's, and their prospects look grim.
People who get their cats declawed don't value their cats. Or, rather, they value their sofas and lounge chairs more than their cats. There's no knowing if any of the lost cats were declawed by their current or previous owners, but somewhere along the line someone thought so little of their cat's life that they paid money to surgically remove the cat's first line of defense. Anyone with an iota of common sense knows cats are the ultimate escape artists, and no conscientious owner would have placed their cat in the situation now facing those three lost cats.
As I type this my right index finger is throbbing from a nice gash Jackson inflicted on me last night. Despite routinely clipping his front claws since he was a kitten there's no way to count the number of scratches my hands, arms, knees and legs have endured over the past 11+ years. The other weekend Ida had to once again cut fraying threads from a $400 chair that Lucy likes to sleep on - being too fat to jump up on the chair, Lucy claws her way to the top. In fact, we don't have a single piece of furniture that doesn't bear the tell-tale evidence that a fully-clawed cat lives in our house. Of course, it all could have been avoided had we each had our cats declawed, but we never placed our material things or our own inconvenience over the well-being of our cats. The value our cats bring to our lives far exceeds the cost of every piece of furniture in the house and every tube of Neosporin we've had to buy. I can always get another sofa or chair; the cats, on the other hand, can't be replaced.
I feel sad for the owners of those cats - losing a pet is heart-wrenching. But I feel more for the cats. Cats are tough, resourceful animals, and though lost, cold and completely out of their element those three cats would normally have a fighting chance. However, thanks to people, they don't have any front claws, and so the odds are now against them. People who have their cats declawed are cruel, irresponsible, and selfish.
People who get their cats declawed don't value their cats. Or, rather, they value their sofas and lounge chairs more than their cats. There's no knowing if any of the lost cats were declawed by their current or previous owners, but somewhere along the line someone thought so little of their cat's life that they paid money to surgically remove the cat's first line of defense. Anyone with an iota of common sense knows cats are the ultimate escape artists, and no conscientious owner would have placed their cat in the situation now facing those three lost cats.
As I type this my right index finger is throbbing from a nice gash Jackson inflicted on me last night. Despite routinely clipping his front claws since he was a kitten there's no way to count the number of scratches my hands, arms, knees and legs have endured over the past 11+ years. The other weekend Ida had to once again cut fraying threads from a $400 chair that Lucy likes to sleep on - being too fat to jump up on the chair, Lucy claws her way to the top. In fact, we don't have a single piece of furniture that doesn't bear the tell-tale evidence that a fully-clawed cat lives in our house. Of course, it all could have been avoided had we each had our cats declawed, but we never placed our material things or our own inconvenience over the well-being of our cats. The value our cats bring to our lives far exceeds the cost of every piece of furniture in the house and every tube of Neosporin we've had to buy. I can always get another sofa or chair; the cats, on the other hand, can't be replaced.
I feel sad for the owners of those cats - losing a pet is heart-wrenching. But I feel more for the cats. Cats are tough, resourceful animals, and though lost, cold and completely out of their element those three cats would normally have a fighting chance. However, thanks to people, they don't have any front claws, and so the odds are now against them. People who have their cats declawed are cruel, irresponsible, and selfish.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Any Volunteers?
USA Today recently reported on how charitable Americans are with their time and money. Not surprisingly financial donations are down; however, the number of people volunteering is trending upwards. A long-time financial contributor myself and but usually a step or two behind the trendy, I'm happy to say that I, too, can now be counted among the volunteers.
In October I started volunteering at a cat shelter, Furkids. In some ways it was a selfish decision. I finally came to accept the reality that I am never going to be a humanitarian, a Carnegie, Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, Duke or Sloan, and that the only thing my name will likely adorn will be a grave stone, a very grand one, mind you, but a grave stone nonetheless. Humbled by this epiphany, I began thinking of how I could make a difference in the world, and naturally cats came to mind. I toyed with the idea of helping people, like supporting literacy efforts and teaching immigrants conversational English, but helping people is why we have churches, right? So, cats won the day.
It's a no-kill, cage-less shelter with about eleven good-sized rooms where the cats hangout on elaborate cat trees and shelves, and I would estimate that there's well over 100 cats total. I'm generally assigned a room or two to clean litter boxes, refresh water and food bowls and sweep and mop the room. It doesn't leave a lot of time for socializing (industry speak for petting) the cats, which was my true desire when I started but I'm OK with that. The world needs its ditch diggers and this shelter needs its litter scoopers.
This isn't my first volunteer gig. When we lived in Ithaca, Ida and I both volunteered at the Cortland County SPCA doing pretty much what I do now except the cats were all in cages. I got sucked into running for and winning a seat on the Board of Directors, thinking that I would be even better positioned to do some good. Man, was I an idiot. Small town politics usurped every meeting, and frustrated that we hadn't done a thing to help the animals, I stepped down and never looked back. I'll do most anything for cats...except work with small-minded people. If I win the lottery, I'll start my own shelter and/or a ranch where disabled and disadvantaged kids can ride horses and care for other farm animals. Until then, I'm satisfied with the grunt work of keeping the cat rooms clean.
Lest you think I care for animals more than I do people...oh, wait...I do care for animals more than I do people! But I'm not completely lacking in compassion for my own. This year I donated to the Haiti relief efforts, helped Ida serve dinner at a Ronald McDonald house, collected and redeemed yogurt tops to fight breast cancer, and for the past three holiday seasons I've donated to the Atlanta Food Bank and Heifer International. This year through Heifer I gave the gift of honey bees. It's not nearly enough to get a building wing, street corner, or elementary school named after me (they'd probably spell my name wrong anyway), but that's alright. I can only do what I can do and hope it makes a difference to someone...or something.
Here kitty, kitty, kitty...
In October I started volunteering at a cat shelter, Furkids. In some ways it was a selfish decision. I finally came to accept the reality that I am never going to be a humanitarian, a Carnegie, Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, Duke or Sloan, and that the only thing my name will likely adorn will be a grave stone, a very grand one, mind you, but a grave stone nonetheless. Humbled by this epiphany, I began thinking of how I could make a difference in the world, and naturally cats came to mind. I toyed with the idea of helping people, like supporting literacy efforts and teaching immigrants conversational English, but helping people is why we have churches, right? So, cats won the day.
It's a no-kill, cage-less shelter with about eleven good-sized rooms where the cats hangout on elaborate cat trees and shelves, and I would estimate that there's well over 100 cats total. I'm generally assigned a room or two to clean litter boxes, refresh water and food bowls and sweep and mop the room. It doesn't leave a lot of time for socializing (industry speak for petting) the cats, which was my true desire when I started but I'm OK with that. The world needs its ditch diggers and this shelter needs its litter scoopers.
This isn't my first volunteer gig. When we lived in Ithaca, Ida and I both volunteered at the Cortland County SPCA doing pretty much what I do now except the cats were all in cages. I got sucked into running for and winning a seat on the Board of Directors, thinking that I would be even better positioned to do some good. Man, was I an idiot. Small town politics usurped every meeting, and frustrated that we hadn't done a thing to help the animals, I stepped down and never looked back. I'll do most anything for cats...except work with small-minded people. If I win the lottery, I'll start my own shelter and/or a ranch where disabled and disadvantaged kids can ride horses and care for other farm animals. Until then, I'm satisfied with the grunt work of keeping the cat rooms clean.
Lest you think I care for animals more than I do people...oh, wait...I do care for animals more than I do people! But I'm not completely lacking in compassion for my own. This year I donated to the Haiti relief efforts, helped Ida serve dinner at a Ronald McDonald house, collected and redeemed yogurt tops to fight breast cancer, and for the past three holiday seasons I've donated to the Atlanta Food Bank and Heifer International. This year through Heifer I gave the gift of honey bees. It's not nearly enough to get a building wing, street corner, or elementary school named after me (they'd probably spell my name wrong anyway), but that's alright. I can only do what I can do and hope it makes a difference to someone...or something.
Here kitty, kitty, kitty...
Thursday, November 18, 2010
T, as in Tango...
In the spirit of giving thanks, you should count your blessings if you have an ordinary name. Based on 41 years experience, I can say that having a name that, according to the Social Security Administration, is not in the top 1000 male names for any year of recorded births is more a burden than an asset. Clearly there are times when a unique name has its benefits, like when people google you they don't get millions of hits (mine yields 774) and Facebook searches usually don't result in over 400 possible friends. My name, then, makes me easy to find. Those benefits, however, are out numbered by the hassle that comes with not being a Steve, Mark, David, John or Bill.
For instance, I have never known the pleasure of finding my name on any merchandise. I challenge you to find (and document) a "Thad" key chain or license plate. If I want my name on something, it has to be custom made. People also seem to have difficulty pronouncing my name. My 10th grade biology teacher called me "Tad" the entire school year. I tried to correct her in the beginning, but eventually gave up. I mean, it's not that difficult a name to pronounce: TH + AD = Thad. Phonics, people, phonics. Non-native English speakers are exempt from my annoyance since "TH" is not always pronounced "TH" in their native tongue. I also have to deal with the apparent difficulty of spelling my name correctly. The following are real-life variations I've experienced:
Phat
Phad
Shad
That
Pat
Matt
Tsat
Thaderic
Chad
It's as though no one wants to believe that you spell my name, T-H-A-D, so somehow P-H-A-T makes more sense to them. As a result, it has long since become habit for me to immediately spell my name upon uttering it, even when meeting people in person: "Hi, I'm Thad, T-H-A-D." To save restaurant hosts and hostesses the trouble, I often give them a different name and hope that I remember that I am now "George." I also always wonder about those who ask about my name, "Is it short for Thaddeus?" Sigh. I wonder if those same people ask, "Oh, is 'John' short for 'Johnathon'?" I once started a new job at a restaurant where a cook was disappointed that I was white. THAD, he explained, is "a brother's name" and I think he was tired of working with a bunch of white guys.
It's not like THAD is that unusual of a name. A few more notable THAD's than myself include:
Coast Guard Adm. Thad Allen (think BP oil spill)
Sen. Thad Cochran
Thad Jones (jazz musician)
Thaddeus Stevens
THAAD (Terminal High Altitude Area Defense)
Thads (a missionary group)
I don't begrudge my parents for naming me as they did; in truth, I've come to like my name quite a bit, despite the hassles. Once it sinks in to their brains, most people remember my name even if they don't remember me, and I'll be eternally thankful they didn't name me, SUE.
For instance, I have never known the pleasure of finding my name on any merchandise. I challenge you to find (and document) a "Thad" key chain or license plate. If I want my name on something, it has to be custom made. People also seem to have difficulty pronouncing my name. My 10th grade biology teacher called me "Tad" the entire school year. I tried to correct her in the beginning, but eventually gave up. I mean, it's not that difficult a name to pronounce: TH + AD = Thad. Phonics, people, phonics. Non-native English speakers are exempt from my annoyance since "TH" is not always pronounced "TH" in their native tongue. I also have to deal with the apparent difficulty of spelling my name correctly. The following are real-life variations I've experienced:
Phat
Phad
Shad
That
Pat
Matt
Tsat
Thaderic
Chad
It's as though no one wants to believe that you spell my name, T-H-A-D, so somehow P-H-A-T makes more sense to them. As a result, it has long since become habit for me to immediately spell my name upon uttering it, even when meeting people in person: "Hi, I'm Thad, T-H-A-D." To save restaurant hosts and hostesses the trouble, I often give them a different name and hope that I remember that I am now "George." I also always wonder about those who ask about my name, "Is it short for Thaddeus?" Sigh. I wonder if those same people ask, "Oh, is 'John' short for 'Johnathon'?" I once started a new job at a restaurant where a cook was disappointed that I was white. THAD, he explained, is "a brother's name" and I think he was tired of working with a bunch of white guys.
It's not like THAD is that unusual of a name. A few more notable THAD's than myself include:
Coast Guard Adm. Thad Allen (think BP oil spill)
Sen. Thad Cochran
Thad Jones (jazz musician)
Thaddeus Stevens
THAAD (Terminal High Altitude Area Defense)
Thads (a missionary group)
I don't begrudge my parents for naming me as they did; in truth, I've come to like my name quite a bit, despite the hassles. Once it sinks in to their brains, most people remember my name even if they don't remember me, and I'll be eternally thankful they didn't name me, SUE.
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