The Emperor

I’m sometimes a contrarian.  This Father’s Day, I found myself thinking about my mother.

I remembered the pleasure of her company when I arrived home from school every afternoon. I’d have a snack while Mom prepared dinner and we’d talk for hours.

One memory popped up that I hadn’t thought about for years.  For several months before I was five I insisted that my mother call me The Emperor rather than my given name.  Sometimes she complied with my demand, but mostly she forgot and I had to remind her.

“I’m not Alan.  I’m The Emperor.”

My emphasis was on being in charge.  I wanted to control my life – including my name – as well as to assert my own separateness, at least from my mother.  I never mentioned this to my father because, well, because he was the real “Emperor” in our house and I didn’t want him to notice my not-so-subtle challenge to his authority.

We all recognize at an early age the need to control our own lives.  That’s why, at age two, my favorite phrase was, “No I not.”  Today my favorite phrase is, “Yes, absolutely.”

Many of our activities are anchored in the idea of control.  Daveen enjoys washing the dishes and doing the laundry.  In a recent conversation she told me, “That’s one area in my life where I have some control.”

I thought about it, and realized that I enjoy shopping for groceries for a similar reason.  When I buy the food I can eat what I like.

We place our names on bank accounts to control our money, homes to control our space, and diplomas to demonstrate our mastery.  We differentiate ourselves with our choices, the cars we drive, and our clothing.  But we also recognize, if only subconsciously, that our aspirations forever fluctuate, our success is inescapably infrequent, and our jurisdiction is both limited and fleeting.

Mom – thanks for your love, our family dinners together, and my memories.  You’ve been gone for thirty years now, but in a very important way you will be alive for as long as I am.

I love you.

Alan (The Emperor)