He's Just Joe

The term Grandpa Joe for my paternal grandfather came about as a compromise familiar. You can read about that here: Mom and Joe. Basically, Joe wanted his grandkids to call him Joe exactly as he taught his own children to call him by his name. When he confronted me Mom about it, seeing as me older brother and I are his oldest grandchildren, she'd have none of it. Grandpas were grandpa or pawpaw or poppop or grandpappy or something like that. The compromise became Grandpa Joe.

I get me Mom's point. I do believe that elder family members should be addressed by a traditional family moniker of some sort. Grandpa, Nana, Aunt, Uncle, as the case may be. Even people we just met ought to be called by some title, Mister, Missus, Ms, Sir, Ma'am, something, until we are familiar enough with them to call them by first names (or instructed to by the person in question). It's a respect we take too lightly in today's world.

However, I kind of understand Joe's wishes too. If he's okay with Joe, even from his progeny and their offspring, I don't see anything wrong with it. It's one of the reasons I consciously call him Joe many times in my blogs. It's what he wanted. As no real evil is involved, what's to debate?

So why did he want to be Joe rather than dad or pop or what have you? I really don't know. He simply preferred it that way, I guess, for whatever psychological reason. I never really questioned it. And the older I get, the less he's Grandpa Joe to me and more just Joe. That's simply who he was.

Mister Son

Me son Frank and I had a nice, long phone talk this past Sunday, around three hours. Man, that boy can talk. Or, more truthfully, listen.

Somewhere along the line he and I began talking about the loss of courtesies such as honorifics. I feel that when introducing someone to someone else, they ought to be called by whatever title they might merit. "This is Mr. Smith," for example. Mr. Smith may then allow the person to call him by a familiar if he's fine with it.

Immediately after saying that I remarked, "Of course, for some reason I don't apply this rule with my children. If while out and about we run into a friend I'll say, "Hi, Cloyce! Oh, this is my son Frank."

"So the next time that happens, Frank, I'll say to Cloyce: "How are you? Oh, and this is my son, Mr. Cosgriff.'" I promised him. Then we each roared with laughter.

When that had died down Frank drolly added, "And the next time someone calls you Mr. Cosgriff, Dad, you can respond, 'Hey, I'm just Marty. Mr. Cosgriff is my son.'"

I don't know about you, but I find the entire concept hilarious.