A my name is Alice and my husband's name is Al - the children's lament

Day 1 of the A-Z Challenge

“A my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al.

We come from Arizona and we sell apples.”

When I was a kid, that song was a favorite of mine. I loved singing the alphabet, I loved filling in the banks, I loved skipping rope as I tried to remember what names began with what letters and what places I could come from and what I could sell. 

Childhood brain teasers. 

I always used my friends' names (A my name is Adrienne) and they loved it! But when your name starts with an “R”, no one ever gets a chance to say Robin.  No one ever sings the song for that much time.  No one can skip rope until the “R’s” come around. There is no “R my name is Robin…”  Never happens.

Finally, as an an adult, I realized that if I was going to wait for my name to be called, it was a set-up for disappointment, an exercise in futility. Each time we set up a jump rope game, every time I pulled out my own rope, I could hope we would go long enough to make it through the alphabet – or at least to my own letter. But no, I never did. We never did. My patience was useless.

So, if your name is Alice, or Ann or Andy or Annette, you are the lucky ones.  Or David or Elise or even Karen.  Pity us poor end-of-the-alphabet named children.  We are still waiting for our turn.

Which leaves us with the real truth of the truth, with the only way to go - why not play the game for the fun of it? Why not sing the song for the sheer enjoyment?  And that of course is what I did, what we all did. What we do.

"R my name is Robin, and my husband's name is Roy, and we come from Richmond and we sell radishes."