Discovering My Son’s Secret Identity
It’s a familiar refrain when a parent exclaims, often after their child has engaged in some mischievous behavior, that “it turns out I really didn’t know them at all.” This sentiment is easy to understand. Your sweet child claims they are heading to the park, but in reality, they are lurking on street corners, hurling apples at unsuspecting neighbors’ windows; or they assure you they’re helping grandma with her finances while they are actually swiping her savings. There’s only so much oversight a parent can exert.
But what if you discovered you didn’t even know your child’s name? That seems particularly unfortunate, especially when the child in question is just nine years old.
To us, our son is named Tristan. He could have been an Edward, but our daughter nixed that option when we were finalizing the shortlist a few weeks before his arrival. He was almost baptized as Tristram when a slightly hard-of-hearing vicar misheard the name, but a quick-thinking godfather intervened just in time. Yet, his schoolteachers have collectively decided, over several years, to address him in all correspondence as Tristian—even though that isn’t an actual name.
So, Tristan he remains. Sometimes affectionately called Tristy, and occasionally Tris. It’s a straightforward name, gentle yet strong, fitting for a decent young man. However, it turns out that once he steps through the playground gates, into the welcoming arms of his friends, our beloved boy transforms into “Otter.”
Our first inkling of this alternate identity came when he referred to himself in the third person—third animal, I suppose. Initially, I brushed it aside, attributing it to his fascination with the numerous stories about otters that line his bookshelves. But at a recent football match, I was greeted by a chorus of friends calling out “Otter” as he arrived, including kids he doesn’t even go to school with. It felt as though the team mascot had just walked in, complete with a whimsical costume.
For the first time, I realized that my son has crafted an identity that exists beyond the one given to him by his family. This revelation left me feeling somewhat excluded, as if I were on the outside looking in. What else about his life and sense of self lies beyond my grasp? Do I truly know him at all?
He graciously assured me that I could call him Otter too. While I may not take him up on that offer, it’s comforting to know that he hasn’t created a separate persona to draw a line between his home life and his friendships. Tristan and Otter seem to coexist as interchangeable facets of the same person, not unlike two sides of a coin. It’s not a classic Peter Parker and Spider-Man situation.
It remains uncertain whether this nickname was one he actively sought or simply embraced. Given his affection for otters, I suspect it is the latter, which indicates a level of confidence I genuinely admire, even if it’s an unusual choice. Still, it’s certainly better than “Tex,” which was a nickname I endured for a while. Thankfully, “Al” has faded into obscurity among the Gores these days—I had that as well for a year or so back in the ’90s. Perhaps he is wise to have claimed a nickname he genuinely enjoys.
Interestingly, my son isn’t the only one among his friends with an animal-themed alias. He has a close companion known as Mr. Pigeon and another whose nickname used to be Geoffrey Cow 360 but has now been shortened to just Cow. It’s reminiscent of a mash-up between The Animals of Farthing Wood and Gladiators.
Ultimately, I should embrace the idea that it doesn’t really matter what name or nickname my son chooses to go by. He is simply an otterly brilliant boy.
