Identity Theft

I volunteered in my son’s kindergarten class this morning. My job was to sit at one of the activity centers and work on an activity with three or four kids at a time.

I’ve volunteered a few times this year, and by now have gotten to know just a few of the kids. But often, the childrens' names still escape me, especially if it’s not one of my son’s friends and if I don’t know his or her parents.

Such was the case with Hannah Montana, the spunky brunette who showed up wearing a sequined pink tee with said logo. I figured that rather than ask her for her name, I’d be manipulative about dragging it out of her.

I was handing out the activity sheets and came around to her. “Here you go, Hannah Montana.”

I was met with giggles and huffiness. “My name is NOT Hannah Montana!”

“Sure it is. It says so right there on your shirt.”

“No, that is NOT my name! It’s just a costume!”

“But it SAYS so, right THERE! Stop being silly, Hannah Montana.”

The little brunette is now giggling profusely and her voice is escalating. “No, I said it’s just a costume! My name is not Hannah Montana!”

I sigh in exasperation. “Look, of COURSE that is your name because it is ON your shirt. Just like my name is on my shirt.” I point to the sticker from the front office that says “Volunteer” on it. “See? My name is Volunteer and your name is Hannah Montana. That’s so easy!”

Now they’re all into the game. “Your name is NOT Volunteer!”

“Wait a minute. I know my name, man. How can YOU tell me that my name is not Volunteer when I say that it is? And besides, see? On my shirt.”

Three of them answer, in unison.

“Because your name is Samuel’s Mom!”

And that is how my identity was stolen.